My Dear Sweet Teacher
by redcake
Summary: With Albel's deteriorating results his mommy had no choice but to call a tutor and guess who came! SO3, AlbelxFayt fluff. Fayt teaches all subjects...from math to science and even love!
1. A New Tutor

_Disclaimer: Tri-Ace and its wonderful staff. I apologise for my bad writing. I'll try harder, really._

Chapter 1: A New Tutor

"Good afternoon, ma'am, my name is..."

"I know. You must be from the Tuition Agency. Come on in."

Though he appeared perfectly calm on the outside, inside he felt like a nervous wreck. It was his first time actually tutoring someone, and he would not have done it if not for the hole in his wallet. He had to put an end to days of starvation at school. His elder sister was far from approachable, and he could understand why—he too considered his bills meagre and unimportant compared to the appalling everyday bills his sister juggled to pay. Quitting school to take up a full-time job just to support the family had dealt her a very large blow; for she had loved her teachers, her friends, and most of all, her education. When the boy expressed his desire to help his sister shook her head.

"You must stay in school," she insisted. "I won't have you quitting school or anything. Whatever will Mother and Father say?"

He loved his sister so much for that. For letting him experience the joy of learning, acquiring new experiences, making new friends. It was something his sister was deprived of; hence he truly cherished his moments at school, making most of it while he could. But his joy was only temporary—he realised he _had_ to help out regardless of whatever his sister said. With the rising prices of goods but a sustained income there was no way they could hope for a better life.

"I must help out," he told his sister one day. "How would I face Father and Mother otherwise? Imagine a man letting a woman do all the work while he bathes himself in luxury, oblivious to the woman's sufferings. It's too shameful." And his sister finally relented, a warm, touched smile on her lips.

"But you must not neglect your studies," she cautioned. "If you feel that your grades are at risk, I…"

"Yes, sister," he nodded reassuringly.

Now he was doubting his assurance and wondered where he had gained the courage to mouth the words he had his sister listen to.

The house he had uneasily stepped in was much better than the rented flat he had spent his life in. The boy's eyes glanced left and right, looking at the fine furniture, new books and pottery with much envy—he could never afford all these luxury even if he worked all his life. Perhaps he could hope to be lucky, but hope had rarely been an engine to success. Smooth, clean planks. A soft, comfortable sofa and a shiny television. Bright lamps which lit up the darkest nights. His eyes darted to every corner of the house. This family is very lucky.

"My son may be a little rough, but he's actually a very good boy," the mother spoke, her voice brimming with pride. "He may be slow at times, but he's a hard worker, I assure you that. I ask that you would be patient with him—and if possible—be his friend."

She sounded a little hurt when she spoke the last few words. The youth empathised a little, then nodded solemnly.

They had finally reached the foot of the staircase. The marble felt cool beneath his feet. The railings were smooth and shiny, as if they had been polished for a grand occasion. His steps were soundless, unlike those that he made with the old flight at home—creak, creak—like an old man wheezing his last words. Along the walls were paintings so beautiful even Picasso would be amazed, then the youth realized that one of the paintings was done by Picasso himself. He stared in admiration at the paintings for a while before increasing his pace to catch up with the lady. He soon found himself in a rather long corridor, at which end stood a bronze bust statue, smooth and glossy, evidence of a professional job.

"I can give it to you if you do a satisfactory job."

The boy seemed startled by the words. "Why, no, ma'am, I can't possibly—"

"In fact, I have so many of such things that I can give one to you right now," the lady clucked. "You seem to be very interested in arts. I can tell. You have that glint in your eyes when you look at them."

That comment was nothing short of embarrassing. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"What need is there to apologise?" the lady beamed. She stopped in front of a sturdy wooden door and politely knocked on it. "Honey, are you in there? The tutor is here to see you."

No answer. The boy grew more nervous. The lady seemed surprised that the door was left unlocked. She carefully opened the door and was about to step in when—

"Die."

In the blink of an eye, a long, shiny sword had leapt ferociously for them.

"Ma'am, look out!"

CLASH!

The youth had drawn his blade out to hold the attack just in time. He was taken aback by the monstrous strength that weighed down upon him. His limbs trembled as they struggled to keep his balance.

"What in the world—"he began, his vision disrupted by his long fringe that had draped down.

"Not bad for a maggot," a familiar voice sneered back at him. "You're the first person to have ever blocked my atta—hey, wait a minute, aren't you…"

The boy caught sight of a horrifyingly familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

"Leingod?"

The green-eyed boy stared back in equal disbelief. "Albel?"


	2. Albel Nox

Chapter 2: Albel Nox

With a swift leap the man who had drawn his sword fell back to his toes. He possessed a slender, firm figure and movements so fluid they reminded the boy of a swordsman. His eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous, angry slit. "You," he hissed, "what in blazes are you doing here?"

The tutor was at a loss for words. His throat was a mixture of confusion, bewilderment and terror. "I…um…"

"Tell me, what in blazes are you—OW!" the swordsman clutched his head in surprise and jerked in pain as the lady landed a hit forceful enough to create a lump the size of a golf ball on his scalp. "Hey, what was that for?"

"That was no way to treat your tutor!" the lady scolded. "How could you be so impolite to our guest? I demand you apologize to this young man immediately!"

"No," the swordsman retorted defiantly, earning him another bump on his head.

The tutor was attempting to process all that was taking place into his brain as the swordsman protested and argued while the lady successfully landed clean hits on the former. Wait a minute, do you mean to say that…

"Oh, dear, look at the time!" the lady exclaimed, snapping Fayt out from his daze. "I really must make a move now. If there is anything you need, feel free to ask, and this boy here will treat you very nicely," she continued as she tackled her crimson-eyed son to the ground on last time before leaving for the door.

"Oh, I almost forgot. My name is Nel Zelpher while this boy's Albel. What's yours?"

"F-Fayt Leingod," the blue-haired boy stuttered as another disgusted sneer was heard.

"Well then, honey, do be a good boy and treat this young man very nicely," Nel turned and instructed the swordsman. "I don't want to hear any nasty complaints, you hear?"

"Wait a minute, woman, I never agreed—"Albel's speech was interrupted by flying daggers zooming right towards him. One of them had slit his throat even as he ducked. Fresh blood poured forth. Fayt, the tutor, was terrified.

"That's 'Mummy' for you," Nel glared menacingly, her eyes blazing. "I shall leave the two of you alone right now, so be good little kids and enjoy yourself!"

"But I—"

"Bye!"

Click.

Nel was out before any one of them could protest. Silence befell the small, cosy room where a despaired Fayt and an outraged Albel were seated. Colourful birds chirped joyfully outside as the leaves rustled with the wind.

Fayt could not believe his eyes. Need anyone remind him that seated in the same room as he, blessed with deep, blood-red eyes, a handsome face and a slim but powerfully built figure was Albel Nox, the greatest bully his school has ever known? He was brought back, suddenly, to the time when he had first met the masculine swordsman during his second year in school. The library, being a poor choice for conducive studying owing to other rowdy boys who were creating a din and a teacher scolding them afterward, had sent him looking for other quiet places where he could do his homework undisturbed. An isolated corner at the back of the school garden, where cool stone benches and study tables rooted themselves next to a small dirty pond, had introduced him to Albel Nox. The black-haired student had brandished his sword at him when he had barely placed a foot into the clearing.

"This territory belongs to Albel Nox," he spoke, curving his sword at the intruder's throat. "Leave now before I have this blade chop you to pieces."

That was how Fayt got to know the Crimson Scourge, Albel's most prized and trusted partner which he could not sleep without.

"This is a public area which belongs to the school," Fayt shot as he paced a few steps backwards. "On what grounds do you claim this area yours?"

"How dare you," Albel had replied, "Nobody argues with Albel Nox and gets away with it!" In a split second Albel vanished and dived at the blue-haired youth with such speed the latter was caught off-guard. A muscle had scarcely moved before Fayt felt an immense power lift him up several metres high and knock him to the ground with such ferocity he landed a dent on the ground. He whimpered and groaned in pain, opening his eyes to face his aggressor, who looked at him mockingly, with a blade sharp as icicles threatening his neck. Fayt could already feel his blood tricking down his neck to mar the cool, long blade before slowly dripping to the ground. He shuddered.

"This is your last chance, maggot," Albel spat. "Get lost."

A very Fayt-like reaction would be to really listen and give in to the sadomasochist standing just a few metres in front of him, but at that moment something stirred in the boy. His clear green eyes scanned the senior carefully from head to toe, and as he did so, he felt a burning sensation in his mind. His heart began to beat rapidly as he felt his temperature rise, his eyes blaze, and every part of him trembling in a fury that shouted for him to tear his opponent apart…

"Your guard's down."

There was a fierce, loud clash as his blade met that of his crimson-eyed aggressor, who for a moment stared wide-eyed at him in surprise. He gritted his teeth and pressed on with a force that Albel had countered with no small effort, anger and determination dancing in his clear green eyes that played shapes and reflections under the glare of the sunlight. Albel leapt quickly backwards and had just regained his stance when he was met with another attack. Very soon multiple quick, powerful thrusts were aimed carefully at him, immense anger dripping in each blow. Albel had lost the advantage and was falling back as he blocked Fayt's attacks. His blood-red eyes gleamed excitement in a manner so pulverising it could scare the whole school as he regained his reflexes and fighting instincts. Every part of him now danced in delirium, which grew with each step he took and each blow Fayt imposed on him. He fell to the ground and leaped back in a log roll, anticipating another attack. Fayt's actions had confirmed his doubts and he stepped easily to the side to evade the attack, momentarily stunning his foe. Another loud clash of metal was heard, followed by the sight of flying sparks as a forceful strike sent Fayt a few centimetres backwards. The stunned boy leapt back just in time to evade another attack. His body was cloaked in a thin film of perspiration that sparkled under the sunlight. Albel was now having the advantage.

"What's wrong, now, when things are just beginning to be fun!" Albel shouted in delight as he made another lunge at the blue-haired boy. How long has it been ever since he had found a decent opponent to spar with? Albel was intrigued by the prospect of feeling Fayt's warm, fresh blood dripping from his sword to his own fingertips. As his attack came from the back, it had Fayt spending a few seconds to turn, face the swordsman and block the attack. This time the blow knocked him to the ground. Albel grinned in exhilaration as he charged again, this time with the thought of knocking Fayt's sword from the latter's hand in mind. If he succeeded, the duel was over, and the boy's wine-red blood would be worth the few strands of hair he had lost and the cut his smooth skin suffered…

Unexpectedly, however, at that moment Fayt threw his sword up and made a dash for Albel's lower limbs.

"What the--"

With a swift kick Albel's feet were thrown off the ground, causing the startled swordsman to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Fayt's sword slipped easily into his palms, which swiftly aimed the blade at Albel's throat. Blood dripped from a cut Albel's blade had grazed earlier on. Fayt fixed his deadly, furious eyes on the thrilled swordsman who showed no signs of fear though his sword was liable to shred his throat to pieces any moment.

"Game over," he said.

Albel's fist clenched tighter round his sword. "Not yet!" Now it was his feet's turn to kick Fayt's, the sharp grooves of his shoes causing it to bleed and Fayt to grimace sharply in pain.

"Oh, no," Fayt mumbled as he felt gravity pulling him down.

"This is it, boy! I won't be as careless as before!" Albel smacked his lips as his blade whizzed to Fayt's right arm. Fayt's blade was too slow to guard the attack then, risking him the danger of having to have his right arm injured severely in a fight he had started foolishly himself…

"Both of you, stop it right now!"

The sudden deep, crisp holler which echoed through the clearing had a dramatic effect. Fayt was instantly snapped out from his daze while Albel's attack missed. Both sprang to their feet to greet the unwelcome intruder. Fayt's eyes widened.

"Ch-chairman," he stuttered. His eyes first darted to the sword in his hand, then to his dirty clothes, stained in the whitest places with his own blood. "Wh-what have I done…?"

"I could ask you the same," the intruder spoke sternly. "You're coming with me to the Student Committee's Office right now."

Fayt nodded meekly.

As he left he heard his former aggressor call out, "Give me your name."

"Fayt Leingod," Fayt replied.

"Albel Nox," Albel responded. "Till the day our blades cross paths again."

Fayt thought then that he would never have to see the swordsman again. He sighed at his demise.

His eyes moved to look at the swordsman seated just a few metres in front of him. The same distance as when he first had his sword near the blue-haired boy's throat. Albel was looking at him with much indignation. Fayt shifted as the former's lips suddenly broke into a malicious smile.

"Well, well, isn't this a pleasant surprise," he cocked his head to one side and laughed. "Who'd ever thought I'd see you again." He stood up and unsheathed a long, shiny blade. The same blade which he fought Fayt with on their first encounter. "Come then, Leingod, let us continue our unfinished business!"

"Wait a minute, Albel! I…I don't want to fight," Fayt waved his hands to and fro as he managed to stutter those words.

Albel gave Fayt a look of puzzlement and fury which clearly shouted, "AND **WHY NOT**."

Fayt could feel his stomach churn as he tried to think of what he should say. His mind whirled and twisted in confusion, panic and disorder. "B-because," his eyes stole glances all over the room, "um, well, it is not proper to do so!" Fayt sighed. How could he get the point that he was there for tuition and not to spar across to the mad sadomasochist? Why can't they have tuition like other normal students?

Because this is Albel Nox, that's why, Fayt's brain answered.

"Look, Albel," Fayt said as he cleared his throat, "I don't want to make any scenes, Could you please sheath that sword of yours, be properly seated and we start lesson proper? I…wouldn't want to waste neither your mother's time nor yours."

Albel looked as if Fayt had turned into a blue-headed Martian with burgeoning green eyes right in front of him. Again, Fayt shifted uneasily.

"Er…I mean for us to start our lesson in a proper manner," Fayt pleaded. "Please?"

"What in the world's wrong with you, Leingod?" Albel's look was that of bewilderment. "Since when have you turned into such a useless puppy?"

"Look, Albel, I'm here for tuition, not a swordfight!" Fayt sighed in exasperation. "And…you're my student so…"

_So please don't make life difficult for me_, Fayt wanted to say.

Albel sheathed his sword, keeping his perplexed look at bay. His blood-red eyes seemed to penetrate the boy's emerald ones and scrutinised him in a way Fayt had never experienced. Albel paced and took his seat in a chair beside Fayt's.

"Thank you," Fayt breathed in relief. "Now we have not actually done any proper, formal introduction, so I'd appreciate it if we could do so—no, not in the manner of swords, but rather, like good, diplomatic citizens—" Fayt could feel himself becoming speech impaired. He took a deep breath and tried not to immerse himself too deeply into Albel's crimson gaze. His mind flustered while he contemplated over the right words to say.

"How do you do," Fayt stretched out a hand, "I'm Fayt Leingod."

"I know," Albel said, as he accepted and shook Fayt's hand, now more puzzled than ever.

"No, no," Fayt corrected. "You're supposed to say, 'I'm Albel Nox.'"

"Whatever for?" Albel asked.

"Um…that's just the way it is," Fayt could not find any good explanation. Then, as if that answer sufficed, he tried again, "Let's do it again. How do you do, I am Fayt Leingod."

"I'm Albel Nox," he looked at Fayt strangely.

"Very good," Fayt mused. At least Albel the Wicked was capable of a proper introduction. "Now let's get your books out. What subject would you like to start with?"

"Huh?"

"Um…I mean get your textbooks out," Fayt suggested. "And if possible, your report cards. I need to know how you are faring with the different subjects."

"I see," it seemed that Albel had finally realised it was futile for him to try to engage Fayt in any kind of duel and with that, there was little he could do but to slink back quietly and obey the kid's command till he had his head fixed. He paced across the room to open a cupboard, and as he did so, books of all kinds readily spilled out.

"There you go," Albel looked up.

Fayt sweatdropped. "Er…are those your books?"

"Well, they can't possibly be yours," Albel said.

The conversation was becoming out of hand.

Man, this is going to be a loooong day…


	3. Outstretched Arm

_I'm currently addicted to Kaori Aso's _I Look Up at the Sky Because You Are There_—you know, the theme song for Wild Arms 4. I think it's really lovely._

_Thank you for all the heart-warming reviews that came in, they're very encouraging! Once again do pardon my horrible grammar and my limited vocabulary. I'm repeating so many words. I'll try my best, honest…_

Chapter 3: Outstretched Arm

"Mirage!" Fayt bawled.

The lovely blonde sweatdropped.

Just a little while ago before the boy came in was the joy of a warm cup of fresh tea and cake, so soft and smooth it melts readily in your mouth. Yes, there was nothing that Mirage would have loved better than tea and sweet cake on such cool afternoons, while seated in the comfort of a soft, velvet couch with pleasant breezes an the delighted chirping of birds entering through the open windows. Mirage sighed and laid down her cup, proceeding to close the windows and draw the curtains, thus indulging the duo in the luxury of air-conditioners instead. She then seated herself beside the crying boy and patted his head.

"There, there," she consoled. "What happened?"

"I don't know what happened myself!"

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_Albel's room, yesterday afternoon._

_Albel's gaze was beyond penetrating—although he had meant no harm, one cannot possibly feel as ease with a pair of blood-red eyes staring at him or her with that amount of peculiarity. Fayt shifted uneasily in the room as he peeked at Albel's report card, his eyes reading but his mind not registering the information on his hands. He took deep breaths to clear his seemingly blocked windpipe while gluing his eyes at the report card, not daring to look up. It must have been ages then for Albel finally spoke._

"_Is that piece of paper so interesting, that you'd stare at it for such a long time?"_

_Fayt nearly ripped the report card into two._

"_Er, I'm making mental notes," Fayt stuttered, "of which are your strengths and weaknesses." His eyes rolled to a corner of the room._

"_With red figures like that?" Albel snorted. "Wouldn't take a fool to draw conclusions on such report cards. Do you know," he narrowed his eyes coolly, "that a chicken's blood was used as ink for this card?"_

_Fayt was horrified. "They wouldn't!"_

"_Oh, yes, they would," Albel sniggered, a clear hint of how bad his results were. "I personally requested for the teacher to use his own blood—I told him I could help him cut a limb or two—and he scampered away like a chicken and brought a brother into the room." He laughed deliciously as he recalled the event. He made the teacher witness the slaughtering of the live chicken with the latter's own eyes. Albel had cackled evilly when the teacher screamed at a swish of his katana._

"_That's horrible!" Fayt gasped. "That's disrespect! How could you do such a thing to your own teacher?"_

_Albel merely rolled his eyes._

_Fayt laid down the report card steadily on the table and stood shakily up. He walked to the corner where Albel's books lay scattered in a messy heap on the floor. He reached for a new textbook which, being unused for what looked like eternity, was covered with a thin sheet of dust which made even country-boy Fayt cringe. He dusted the book carefully as he walked back to the table. Albel had unsheathed his sword and was gazing at it as if it was his lover, which it was._

"_Um, let's start," Fayt cleared his throat. Albel gave him a disgusted look before sheathing the sword back into its hilt. Fayt opened the textbook and, scrutinising a page, selected a question for Albel to attempt._

"_What's this?" Albel stared distastefully._

"_I'd like you to try this question for a start," Fayt explained, "so that I know how good you are."_

"_Wasn't the report card enough?" Albel shot._

"_I'd still like you to attempt the question nevertheless," Fayt said firmly._

_Albel muttered a few curses under his breath as he took one look at the question. The boy was looking at him hopefully. It would seem rather shameful for him to know not how to solve a pair of simultaneous equations—Fayt had really started from the basic of basics—but then again, who cares? His blood-red eyes rooted themselves seriously on the equations. He picked up a pencil and was about to write something nasty when he decided to dismiss such childish thoughts. He looked up at Fayt. The green-eyed boy sweatdropped as he took that as a good enough answer._

"_Um, for a start, logarithms are difficult to work with so you would want to change them to something simpler, like this," Fayt suggested helpfully. He scribbled what-looked-like-Martian-in-the-eyes-of-Albel before simplifying the equations to a much simpler cubic equation. Albel's clueless expression did not improve. Fayt looked uneasily into his eyes when he finished._

"_Um, do you understand what this means?" he asked meekly._

"_Of course I do, you blithering idiot, this just didn't cross my mind," Albel scoffed haughtily, in a tone that wretchedly explained he actually didn't._

"_Um, you use a couple of logarithmic laws to simplify logarithmic terms--" Fayt's voice trailed off. "Um, do you know what a logarithmic expression is?"_

"_There's nothing on earth that Albel Nox doesn't know," the blood-eyed swordsman scoffed._

_Fayt sweatdropped._

"_Look, this is a logarithmic expression," Fayt explained as he scribbled 'xlog25' on the piece of paper. "This is the logarithmic version of 2 to the power of x equating to 5."_

"_So?" Albel obviously had no comprehension of the topic._

"_So now you can solve for x."_

"…_that's easy."_

"_Really?"_

"_Of course. Any idiot would know something as simple as that."_

"_All right, then, could you give this next question a try?"_

_Albel was shoved a question with numerous logarithmic expressions. Fayt looked at the able-bodied swordsman as the latter picked up his pencil confidently and began to write something. Fayt's eyes widened as Albel proceeded, with no less confidence than before, to add all the logarithmic expressions together—which was a very stupid thing to do—before apparently subtracting what he doesn't like. Remembering that Fayt had obtained a really long answer he hurriedly produced a self-conjured set of numbers which looked twice as disgusting as the one Fayt had obtained earlier on._

"_There you go," he smirked, seemingly contented with his work._

_Fayt realised then that Albel's mathematical part of the brain was probably limited to only arithmetic._

_Perhaps he shouldn't have started with math after all._

"_Gee, good job," Fayt coughed, half-hoping that would help. "Um, I think we should move on to Indices."_

"_Bah, those are for monkeys," Albel retorted._

_Fayt sighed, wishing that every bit of Albel's words were true. How this man managed to ascend to the next grade was definitely nothing short of a miracle. "All right," he began, "why don't you try solving this?"_

"_That's easy," Albel smirked. With the same pencil in hand he converted a mass of indices to logarithmic expressions and repeated foolishly what he had previously done. Fayt grew more horrified as he produced two sets of disgusting numbers this time, as there were two variables x and y._

Patience_, he thought. _At least this guy knows that he needs to obtain two answers.

"_There you go," and the pencil was once again laid on the table. Fayt could feel himself losing brain cells._

"_Um, that's not something you should do," Fayt pointed out._

_Albel gave him the same 'how-dare-you-argue-with-me' look that he used against the youth back then._

"_Look, there are some rules you should observe when it comes to indices," Fayt began, trying very hard to ignore the glare.  
_

"_So?"_

"_So those are what you should actually use in this case."_

"_What's the difference between that and lofty-terms?"_

"_Logarithms, Albel. The difference is in the sets of laws that you have to observe. It's like a dress code. Our school has one, Airglyph has one, Aquaria also has one, but they're dress codes just the same."_

"_I see. That's easy."_

"_All right," Fayt sighed in defeat. His patience was wearing out._

"_So which one belongs to Aquaria, and which one belongs to Airglyph?"_

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"Mirage, I don't know what to do," Fayt sobbed openly. "How I survived that 2-hour session with him was a real miracle, but I don't think I can put up with another lesson next week--"

Mirage's eyes were wide open. Her lips parted slightly in shock. "Wait," she said, incredulous, "you mean to tell me that your first student is Albel Nox?"

Fayt nodded over another tissue.

"Look, maybe you should stop tutoring him if it bothers you so much," Mirage suggested.

"I can't do that. I'd never be able to face him or his family forever. Despite that horrible attitude of his, he has a lovely mother who pays well," Fayt sniffed.

Mirage thought over things for a moment. As the vice-Chairman of the Student Committee she had every obligation to listen to the student population and satisfy their needs, hence shaping her into a patient and thoughtful person. She gently touched Fayt's shoulder and smiled.

"There was once a man who couldn't get a job," she began. "He had a family of four to support, and he was thus very happy when he had found one. However, he realised that the working conditions in the factory where he was employed in was not very good. They had to work for very long hours under morbid conditions for very low pay. He had taken up the job knowing that of he rose to a higher rank his salary would be much better than that which he's earning now, but he was crestfallen to know how far away he is from promotion, and wondered if he could ever get by."

Fayt stopped crying. "That's sad," he sniffed. "What happened to him?"

"Well, he was about to give up his job in search for a better one, but he realised the risk he's putting his family in if he can't get one again. One day he found out that his children were also working to help him out. He had received a small envelope containing a little bit of money with a note from his children. He was extremely touched and thus decided to continue with his job.

"It was not very long after him pouring his heart and soul into his work that he was promoted and thus led his family out of poverty."

Fayt pondered over the story. He brushed away a tear. "You're right, I still have my friends—Mirage, I can't thank you enough. I'll do my best at this job."

"Don't forget that everyone always starts off somewhere," she reminded. "You can't expect the road to success to be a smooth one. I'm sure everything will work out for you if you try hard."

"You're right. I had forgotten. Mirage, thank you very much. Is there anything I can help you with in return?"

"Well, we'll be having a meeting very shortly, and you know how sour our Chairman would get without his cakes. Perhaps you could help me buy a few before the meeting starts. Here's the money—oh, and if there's any change you can use it to buy some cakes for yourself as well."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Fayt giggled sweetly. "Good-bye, vice-Chairman. I shall be on my way now."

"Be careful, Secretary, that you don't get lost or get into other forms of trouble."

Fayt waved a hand as he dashed and disappeared down the long corridor.

"What a cute kid," Mirage chuckled, widely amused, as she saw the dust trail that was left behind.

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The pavement consisted of beautiful, clean white tiles which gleamed under the sunlight, with big, shady canopies lining either side of the path. Beneath the trees were pretty, delicate flowers of all colours and sizes carpeting the lush, rampant grass. Tall, gigantic buildings stood magnificently in the distance, its smooth windows reflecting the sunlight, its shiny glass panes sparkling brilliantly. Down the pavement and across the street would be the Bakery he was to go, Fayt had remembered the way well, and he increased his pace as he neared the place. At proximity he stopped to catch his breath, for he was rather breathless from running all the way to the Bakery from school, and he was about to enter his destination when something caught the corner of his eye.

It seemed like a group of gangsters bullying a few frightened youths in a rather dark and isolated corner across the street.

If Albel seemed frightening to you this group would be terrifying—plastered on their twisted faces were crooked features making the most gruesome expressions Fayt had ever seen. Their hair was dyed in striking colours of red, blue or green, and they shouted in a voice so loud their verbal abuses could be heard miles away. Other onlookers were granted fearsome glares which sent them scampering like frightened mice. If such looks could scare a person that he would flee, the fear the frightened youths were containing must be really immense.

From across the street Fayt could see the dispute rising to a point where water could easily be boiled. He had not planned to interfere when one of the gang members suddenly raised his pole and struck a youth hard on his back.

The youth let out an ear-piercing scream. He then collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain and agony, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks.

The rest of the gang members laughed hysterically.

Fayt was astounded.

_I have to help them_, Fayt thought, as his muscles tensed and his adrenaline pumped into action. He drew out his sword and was about to confront the gang when he hesitated upon seeing how big the gang was—they were easily twenty people strong, with muscles so immense they appeared as if they could easily deflect his blows. He could take them out all right, but not without much difficulty, the risk of injuries and being late. Taking advantage of the Committee members' patience was not a right thing to do either, but while he was debating the boys' screams were becoming increasingly louder and pain-stricken as their injuries worsened. _I'm sorry, Mirage,_ Fayt thought as he clenched his sword tightly in his arms and glared fiercely at his foes.

Just as Fayt was about to leap into battle he noticed a familiar figure walking into the scene. A hilt nearly as long as himself, which dangled from his side, seemed to laugh wryly at the gang before it. The figure approached nonchalantly, his head bowed in silence as he accidentally knocked into one of the gang members.

Typical reaction ensued.

"Hey, dope," one of the gang members spat, "did your parents not teach you any manners? Don't you know you're supposed to apologise when you bump into a person?"

The very familiar figure gave no reply.

"I think someone here needs to be taught a lesson!" the brute roared fiercely as he raised his fist.

Fayt could've sworn he saw a smirk from behind the figure's coal-black bangs.

There was a loud thump, followed by a deathly silence, as the black-haired man's fist formed a punch so powerful it knocked a brute down with one blow. Rays of sunlight now revealed the man's golden-tinged bangs and crimson eyes so fiery and deep Fayt knew he had seen them before somewhere…

"Albel," Fayt realised.

The crimson-eyed swordsman smirked mockingly at his astounded foes. "Too weak," he scoffed, as if challenging them, "Strength like this only lands you with useless maggots!"

His eyes flashed in delirium as he brandished his katana and charged at his foes in a speed that caught their foes off-guard. The gangsters could hardly utter a word as three of their members fell without warning, foam forming at the corners of their mouths. Albel's strike was so powerful Fayt could perceive the swordsman's opponents' a few broken bones. Albel laughed as his feet jerked, twisted and turned, taking the gangsters down one by one with each blow he had dealt. Fayt noticed that Albel always aimed for their limbs—the gangsters would collapse clutching their swollen, twisted arms or legs in torment. Albel, on his part, seemed to be highly enjoying himself. By then only nine people, including the leader, remained.

"Too weak," Albel cackled a second time. "It's no fun when you pose me no challenge!"

The gangsters were shaking and shivering with fear. From the moment the first member was taken down their morale had decreased—now it had been depleted to the point where only panic and terror remained. Fayt marvelled at the battle that was taking place; Albel seemed to have no difficulty though confronted in such big numbers. The enormous muscles that bulged out of the gangsters' body were insufficient to protect them from Albel's deadly blows. The time Albel needed, on the other hand, to defeat his many opponents was unbelievably short. The gangsters must have realised this as well and stood rooted to the spot.

Just then, Fayt could hear the loud wailings of a siren approaching. The cops were making their way speedily to the scene; apparently someone had informed them of the fight that was taking place. The remaining gangsters glanced at the cops in relief before prostrating themselves on the ground, mourning over their friends' demise. Albel stared strangely at them.

"What is going on in here?" a policeman demanded fiercely upon his arrival.

"This man," the leader immediately broke before Albel could open his mouth, "did all these to my friends with his sword! Look at how serious their injuries are. He even practised violence on those hapless boys!" he cried as he pointed to the boys they had bullied earlier, who had passed out.

"Mister, this man deserves to be punished!"

The policeman gave him a deadpanned look. "Did you really do all these?"

Albel merely shrugged.

"We'll need you to come with us to the Office," the policeman motioned. Albel sheathed his sword and gave the policeman a smirk before following him to a car. Fayt stared at the scene with disbelief.

_Wait, _Fayt wanted to say, _he'd done no wrong_, but there was little he could do as he watched his student follow the policeman solemnly, not protesting, not saying a word. His head was bowed in a nonchalant manner, but his eyes reflected of isolation and pain. It was as if he had become numb to pain after much subjection to it. Fayt felt his heart ache. He could only watch helplessly as Albel disappeared into the distance.

With a tap of his feet he was in the Bakery and moments later he was out, speeding silently back to school.


	4. Patience up a Sleeve

_All right, there doesn't seem to be much noticeable errors in this so far…I'm surviving…_

_Thanks for the reviews once again, I think you guys are absolutely sweet:-) I do welcome criticisms, so if there's anything unsatisfactory about this, do feel free to write in. All sorts of comments are highly appreciated._

_This chapter is rather disappointing, but I'll try harder next time... _

Chapter 4: Patience up a Sleeve

Fayt's heart pounded rapidly as he sped his way to Albel's home. He had not seen the blood-eyed swordsman ever since the incident and worried for him as much as how a mother would for her son. His emerald eyes had to confirm for themselves the swordsman's safety before his anxiety would be completely dispelled. Albel had to be all right, otherwise, it would not be fair—

He paused in front of the smooth oak door to catch his breath. His heart pulsated while his face was hot and red, with sweat trickling slowly to the ground. Fayt wiped a bead of perspiration before adjusting himself to a presentable degree and rang the doorbell. He waited anxiously for an answer. The door swung open to reveal a cheery red-haired lady in a pretty green-striped black dress. "Why, hello there," Nel greeted pleasantly. "Do come in. You look tired; I shall prepare a drink for you right away."

"Thank you very much," Fayt spoke politely. Nel bowed with a smile in return before leaving for the kitchen, leaving Fayt to make his own way to Albel's room. The blue-haired boy wasted no time in doing such—in a swift leap he was halfway up the stairs, with quick steps he dashed carefully down the corridor, stopping only in front of a sturdy wooden door. He knocked politely, but his mind screamed impatiently to know of Albel's safety. Fayt's rapid heartbeat grew as he waited for an answer.

"Albel?" his soft voice rang. "Are you in there?"

There was no answer. Fayt decided then that he should forgo courtesy in such cases and turned the doorknob for himself.

Which was a rather foolish thing to do, the youth later realised, as within split seconds a katana had flung itself ferociously upon him, forcing him to draw his sword to block the attack. The loud clashing of metal resounded through the house.

"Good to know that you're still on your toes, Leingod!" a handsome swordsman greeted ecstatically. "Are you ready to continue our fight?"

Fayt leapt and landed soundlessly on the cool surfaces of the floor of Albel's room. His breath falling short by the sudden attack, his eyes, however, rested on the surprisingly healthy curves of his opponent. Albel was none the image of someone who had went through torturous hours of interrogation, unpleasant demands and scolding, lived through a harsh environment of food deprivation, or the torment of caning or other forms of corporal punishment--on the contrary, he looked as well-fed as any well-to-do adolescent, with trained muscles instead of ones that had shrunk and a figure slim and attractive as ever. His eyes blazed with the same energetic impulse as when Fayt had first met him, his dark hair soft and shiny, his language and greeting as foul as ever. This was hardly any man who had gone through a horrifying ordeal. How he managed to survive the cops Fayt never found out, but Albel's perky being brought the blue-haired boy his much sought for joy and relief.

_Well…so much for worrying over a Wicked One_. Fayt felt a smile creep up his lips, but decided to conceal it lest it encouraged a brawl.

"You need to stop ambushing anyone who comes by your door," Fayt replied, trying his best to produce a sour tone. "It's dangerous, for someone might get injured."

"That's none of my business, isn't it, Leingod?" Albel returned maliciously, "For right now all I care about is our unfinished fight!"

Albel was about to unleash another attack when flying daggers mysteriously appeared from the door and windows, piercing him in the weirdest places before shurikens pinned him to a wall. Albel dropped his sword in a surprise which turned to distaste.

"You scum," Nel scolded, appearing suddenly with a gleaming red aura about her, "Can't you see that your dear teacher here is puckered out? Haven't I told you that this is no way for you to treat innocent, defenceless people? You bring me utmost disgrace!"

Fayt marvelled as Nel spoke, for she was balancing a tray of lemonade and cookies at the tip of a dagger.

"Do not interrupt our fight, woman!" Albel spat hoarsely back. "This fight is between me and Leingod alone—gah!" Albel cried as a dagger whizzed towards him, nearly stabbing his throat as it stopped only a few millimetres away, grazing his skin as it did so.

"That's 'Mummy' for you," Nel reminded for the umpteenth time, wrath pouring from her eyes. "The next time you say those words I'll tie you up and kick you down the Eiffel Tower."

Both Fayt and Albel shivered.

"I'm sorry that you had to witness yet again such shameful incidents," Nel apologized courteously to Fayt. "Do have a drink and some cookies. I'll be downstairs, so feel free to call me should you need anything."

"Thank you," Fayt said, glancing uneasily at his student.

"Let me down, you wench!" Albel roared.

A second dagger bruised his left leg, which Nel kicked afterwards with such force Albel's scream was audible throughout the entire house.

"Darn it!"

"That's 'Mummy' for you," Nel glared fiercely. "Until you call me such I shall not release you. But then again, you can always get your darling tutor here to do it on my behalf." Her gaze softened at the sight of Fayt sipping his lemonade uneasily.

"Is it good?" she asked.

"Very," Fayt hastily replied.

"Maggots," was Albel's reply, to which Nel responded with a dropkick on his head.

"Well then, I shall take my leave," and with a curtsy Nel vanished from the room as quickly as she had appeared.

Fayt sipped more lemonade as he stared peculiarly at Albel.

"Would you like me to get you down?" he asked.

"Promptly," Albel replied sulkily.

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"…which means that x is1.5," Fayt explained. "Do you understand now?"

"Humph. That's too easy." Albel said confidently.

"Well, then, why don't you give this sum a try?" Fayt asked.

"This is too easy, too," Albel declared again. Pencil in hand and paper on the table the black-haired swordsman started scribbling the most outrageous things a mathematician would have ever seen. Fayt merely calmed his anger through sips of lemonade; its sweet, refreshing taste was so succulent nothing could resist its charm. His large, green eyes scanned through Albel's workings and showed disapproval.

"No, no, that's not how you should do it," Fayt explained. "You should actually shift the entire term over to this side--" he wrote out the steps neatly as he went on—"and you'll wind up with something like this. This is a linear equation which should be easy enough to solve."

"But of course," Albel said.

"Now try," Fayt commanded.

Albel groaned sourly. He stared at his paper for a few moments before deciding that this kid would not go anywhere until he did a question right—for the same cycle was repeating for _the fifth time__already!_ The crimson-eyed swordsman was losing his patience, slowly but surely. _All right_, he concluded, _I'll solve this one correctly and show the kid what I'm made of!_ And with that he pondered over his steps carefully before writing them down. _Think, Albel, **think**, what was it that the kid do that he perfected every question?_ Shift the entire term. Cross-multiply. For once, he was doing fine.

Fayt watched Albel earnestly and his eyes widened at the latter's progress. Why, just a minute ago he could hardly do a single step right, and within that minute he was showing tremendous improvement! The warmth and satisfaction was sensational. Meanwhile, Albel had finished the question proudly and was looking to see what kind of reaction his mentor would give. It was easy to tell how pleased the blue-haired boy was, for his eyes twinkled like little stars while a soft, heart-warming smile plastered his face.

"Oh, Albel, this is a job wonderfully done," Fayt's voice was brimming with joy. Had the swordsman finally decided to finally give him a little respect? "Just that you made a slight mistake here, affecting the rest of your steps. Try fixing this and see what happens."

At those words Albel seemed slightly put off; but he had executed a proper job to the best of his ability, and he thus felt minimal content, feeling more the weight of making a mistake. Albel the Wicked certainly _never_ makes mistakes, and he was not about to rebuke a statement he was famous for. Like a rocket he set to scrutinise his work; his blood-red eyes gazed fiercely at the piece of paper as though it was grinning wryly at his foolishness, his long, thin fingers impatiently toying with his purple-black pencil. There was silence aside from the sound of a pencil tapping on the wooden surface of the table. Fayt sat quietly, shooting hopeful, encouraging glances at his student. Then there seemingly was a bolt of lightning that the Gods had blessed Albel with; his hands sprang into action and, eyes twinkling excitedly, the blood-eyed swordsman erased and corrected his steps furiously before finishing with a triumphant "Aha!"

"There you have it," Albel grinned, with a surprisingly childish look.

"Well done!" Fayt praised, equally sharing his joy. "Great job. So I assume you have grasped the concept now?"

"Wait a minute. Is there nothing wrong with this?" Albel sounded rather put off.

"None that I can identify," came the reply, a tone reflecting his amusement at his student's disbelief. "See? I knew you could so it!"

Albel's lips broke into possibly the biggest grin he'd ever felt himself grin for years. His eyes shone radiance and pride at his new accomplishment while his previously bored and exasperated expression was replaced by a rejuvenated one—who'd have thought _Albel Nox_ could solve a _math_ question right? Years of other unsuccessful tutoring had cooped him up in the zone of failure; even his own inner spirit had given up the tiniest specks of hope. He felt a sensation both alien and familiar; like when others would commend him for his swordplay, but how long has it been since someone spoke words not of fear and hatred for assumed impending danger?

"Let's try another question," Fayt piped chirpily, cutting Albel's train of thoughts.

"Bring it on," Albel smirked confidently.

"That's the spirit!" Fayt smiled. "Now try this. It's a little bit different from the previous question, but you should be able to solve it just fine."

Wasting no time, a pair of crimson, eager eyes fell upon the question, which seemed to tremble in defeat even before the battle had started. Math, to Albel, was becoming like a different kind of swordplay—a different kind of challenge, a battle. If he could solve the sums he'd have won, which an Albel Nox should perfectly be capable of doing. His muscles was tense as his brain juice registered the information carefully, contemplating over the appropriate steps to approach the sum, but his heart glowed warmly, the pleasant sensation he had felt earlier on lingering in his inner self. Words and numbers reflecting much thought slipped on the white surface of paper bit by bit as a pair of clear, emerald eyes watched their progress with no less enthusiasm and excitement than the amount of thought put into those steps. He was getting it, Fayt knew, and he was excited—his student had tremendous potential, and required all along merely correct harnessing. His mind stirred as Albel's steps grew longer, and like ascending up a ladder he seemed to be reaching a decision.

His decision had finalised as Albel triumphantly jotted down his acquired answer.

"There," he announced victoriously as his comrades the paper and pencil retreated for a rest.

"Well done," Fayt praised in exultance. "I knew you could do it. All you had to do was try."

Albel smirked in arrogance.

"Albel, I've decided on something," Fayt declared excitedly.

"Have you finally wished to continue our duel?" Albel asked hopefully.

"Albel, I want us to be friends!"

The crimson-eyed swordsman looked as though he had just received the Nobel Peace Prize.

"What did you say?" He inquired, bewildered.

"I said for us to be friends," Fayt replied.

"Leingod, what got into you?" Albel cut in.

"And in order to do so, you really need to stop addressing me by my last name," Fayt went on. "Call me Fayt."

"Leingod, are you out of your mind?" Albel was clearly nothing short of shocked. Even to be called rivals or enemies was an experience rare as finding gold on the streets when everyone deemed him a mad sadomasochist; the imagination that 'friends are for sissies' just convinced him further that the boy sitting just centimetres away from him, with eyes that twinkled shapes and colours, was spouting but absolute nonsense.

"Why do you look so surprised?" Fayt chided. "And please stop addressing me as Leingod. Call me Fayt."

"Look, you don't know what you're saying! Why'd you want to befriend _me_ of all maggots in the world?"

"Stop protesting. C'mon, call me Fayt."

"Leingod, you--"

"How difficult is it to say my name?"

"You're being ridiculous. Albel Nox needs no friends!"

"Albel, I'd hate to make this into a threat, but unless you say my name I won't quit bugging you."

"I refuse," Albel hissed. "Look here, Leingod, I don't know what got into you but--"

"It's FAYT." The blue-eyed boy hissed back.

The crimson-eyed swordsman was at a loss for words.

"C'mon Albel, we can't be considered friends if we don't even address each other by proper names."

"We aren't friends," Albel protested.

"Right now we are," was Fayt's reply. "Really, is my name that difficult to articulate? Say it. FAYT."

"Leingod--"

"FAYT."

Albel gave up.

"Fine, you win," he relented and paused for a while before opening his mouth to speak again in a sour tone.

"_Fayt_."

The blue-haired boy was overjoyed.

"I guess we can now call it a day!" He clapped his hands happily before packing his things. "See you next time, then, Albel!"

"Go get your head fixed," Albel growled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."


	5. Midday

_ I'm very sorry for the late update! I'd gotten so into other games I forgot about this fic...um, thanks for all the reviews! I'd never thought it would hit more than 10. Oh well. Once again, I apologise for the long delay, and if the next chapters aren't worth the wait. I'm real sorry.  
_

Chapter 5: Midday

The blue-haired youth glanced uneasily at his surroundings. It was without his knowledge how his feet carried him to the back garden of the school, where the air was light and refreshing, with trees stretching their trunks in a splendid manner as they boasted of their thick, shady canopies. A tiny flower field carpeted a corner by the bank of a small, muddy pond, in which were animals bustling with everyday business and activity. The rampant grass beneath his feet was sharp but soft, and cool breezes would occasionally sting his clear green eyes. Fayt looked around. The garden had kept its demure appearance from the first time Fayt stepped into the vicinity—the first time he met the school bully Albel Nox. He chuckled at the memory he used to dread previously.

_Well, I should make good use of my time while I'm here,_ the blue-haired boy smiled smugly to himself.

He proceeded to the foot of a rather huge, shady tree, his tiny lunchbox tightly clutched in his right hand. He smiled once more as he looked up and called out in a loud voice, "Albel, I know you're up there, so come down and let's have lunch together."

There was no response, but Fayt had obviously anticipated this. He sighed, and, securing his lunch box in a safe spot, pulled out his leg greaves from goodness-knows-where and equipped it. He took a deep breath and readied himself before giving the tree three consecutive forceful kicks which sent it shaking in terror.

It was not long before he heard a loud thump followed by the loud cursing of someone echoing behind him.

"Curse it, Leingod," he grumbled, brushing blades of grass off his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Look, I wouldn't have done so if you had obediently descended the tree," Fayt replied. "C'mon, let's have lunch together."

"You kicked me down a tree just to have lunch?" Albel glared. "Look, if it's company you want, why don't you find others instead of me?"

Fayt paused. He could not very well tell this guy that his feet had unknowingly strayed themselves off to the place. "Oh, I just felt like doing so," Fayt said dismissively, picking up his lunchbox from the ground.

"See here, I'm in no mood to be with anyone right now, so would you just scram and leave me alone?" Albel growled, dusting himself as he stood.

"I can't do that!" Fayt replied cheerfully, feigning an expression of disbelief. "But I'd gladly go if you'd be willing to come with me."

"Beat it, Leingod," Albel glared, trying his best to conjure a condemning pose as his height towered on the boy. "You've got other pals who wouldn't mind even if you eat them instead. Why won't you just join them and leave me alone? If you want my company that badly, can't you wait until next week when you come down for tuition!"

"There's a big difference between tuition and having lunch," Fayt, unaffected, kept his merry, pleasant tone as he grabbed Albel's arm and dragged the unwilling party with him. "Now let's head for the rooftop. It's not as congested as the canteen and the wind is very pleasant."

"I'm comfortable where I am, thank you very much," Albel grumbled, snatching his arm from Fayt's grasp. Fayt tittered as he turned to face his new friend.

"That's good to hear," he said, motioning to a bench. Albel slammed his lunch irritably on a stone table before seating himself next to Fayt, who grimaced at the act.

"Don't slam your lunch like it's trash," Fayt winced. Occasions of hunger had taught him very well to appreciate the goodness of food. "I'm sure your mother took a lot of trouble to prepare it."

"She didn't, maggot," Albel replied gruffly as his fingers fumbled with the opening of his lunchbox. The lid gave way to a messy mixture of rice, meat and vegetables, with pieces of eggs buried like hidden gold. "This was just leftovers from yesterday's dinner. That woman had to rush to work real early in the morning and had no time to prepare lunch. I just grabbed whatever I could find and stuffed them in this box." True enough, the mess which looked like the aftermath of an earthquake reflected very well Albel's nature regarding lunch.

"Really?" Fayt was rather surprised, as he had previously thought that most rich kids would be spoilt. "Does it happen every morning?"

"Most," Albel answered, piercing a slice of meat violently with a fork. "It's been going on for as long as I can remember so I…" he frowned upon realising where the conversation was heading. Why were they talking about him all of a sudden? "That's a rather pathetic lunch," Albel abruptly commented at Fayt's sandwiches, trying to change the subject. "Aren't those merely bread and jam?"

"Well…" Fayt bowed his head and looked sheepishly at his meal, "I don't come from a family as well-to-do as yours."

"I see," came the reply. "Look, why don't you grab a bit of my lunch. I've packed a rather big serving and I don't feel like finishing them off with you around."

Fayt's eyes grew round and big, his mouth parting slightly in shock. Golly, was Albel Nox _**offering** him his lunch_? "Why, no, I can't possibly…"

"Stuff it, maggot," Albel barked. "If that's all you eat everyday, it's no wonder you're short and scrawny. Your growing period doesn't last a lifetime. Though I wouldn't mind if you refuse, I'm more than willing to tip them to the ground…"

"W-wait a minute! You can't waste food!" Fayt flustered, grabbing Albel's hand in an attempt to stop him. The latter smirked wryly. Fayt withdrew his hand and blushed. "Um, I'm sorry," he apologised. "But you shouldn't waste food. Think of all the hard work and effort farmers put in to produce all these, they…"

Albel yawned loudly to interrupt Fayt. "Keep your philosophies to yourself, Leingod," he grumbled, dumping spoonfuls of his lunch into Fayt's tiny lunchbox. "Why don't you beat it and get to a synagogue if you want to preach that badly."

"The name's Fayt! And stop telling people off in that annoying tone," Fayt pouted. His eyes twinkled, however, at the prospect of having more food in his lunchbox. His pouting transformed to a grateful smile. "And…thank you," his face reddened a little as he smiled.

"Shut up," Albel retorted, with a tone that indicates Albel-Nox-does-nothing-good-for-anyone-and-there-is-thus-no-reason-why-you-should-thank-him! He passed the blue-haired boy a disposable plastic spoon, which was received well, before chucking a slice of meat into his mouth. Fayt giggled as he, too, began his meal in a polite fashion. He was surprised at the first taste of the spoonful of rice he had slid into his mouth.

"Why, Albel, this is freezing cold!" Fayt commented in surprise. If the next thing that Albel would tell him was that he'd been having cold lunches all his life Fayt would really be at a loss for words.

"I didn't want to risk burning the food with the oven or other heating devices," came the reply, "so all these are fresh off the fridge. You can dump them away of you like."

Fayt was speechless. Though his lunch was far more meagre than his companion's at least he had the luxury of a warm meal everyday. True enough, the taste if the food was fabulous—the meat smelt richly of herbs and spices, the eggs light and soft, the vegetables crunchy and juicy, and even the rice had a spicy tinge of its own. How wonderful the meal would be if the meat was not tough as pebbles and the rest ice cold. Fayt's heart was deeply moved with each spoonful of food he ate. There was silence for a while before Albel spoke again.

"If you think this stuff taste good you ought to know that that woman bought it off a restaurant."

Fayt nearly choked.

Albel resumed his meal in silence.

"Has she ever cooked for you before?" Fayt asked, his heart growing heavier by the moment.

"I won't deny that she's a terrific cook," Albel replied hastily, munching his food carefully. "She could probably whip up a dish as good as this, but that I've never tasted. The only thing I'd ever tasted that came from her was a cake I had ages ago for my birthday. Now that I think about it, though, it could have been storebought for all I know."

"You can't tell me you've been having outside meals all your life!" Fayt gasped, aghast.

"Nah. We used to have a servant-girl who'd cook for us before. And then…" Albel's voice trailed off, once again realising where the conversation was heading. "Hold it, why are we talking about me all of a sudden?"

"Albel, please go on," Fayt pleaded, his eyes twinkling like little stars.

"Shut up," Albel spat, resuming his lunch in silence. Fayt returned gloomily to his own meal as he pondered over what he had just discovered. His mind was a complicated mixture of feelings boiling down to pity and grief while his companion, the dark-haired swordsman, appeared nonchalant to his own situation. There was a heavy, uneasy quietness which Albel gladly welcomed as he relished the last bits of his lunch, and which Fayt would not want to shatter while he was still caught up in his own sorrow. All activity seemed to cease, even in the soundless pond, seemingly in melancholy by Albel's tale, convincing anyone that the dark-haired swordsman was a master of his own territory.

Fayt gulped the last of his lunch as the bell concluded the break. Both stood up and faced the direction of the main building. Fayt turned his head and softly gazed at his new friend.

"Thanks for the lunch," he bowed, before speeding off back to the main building.

Albel merely said nothing as he, too, walked swiftly back to his classroom in deep thought.

Such was one of the most depressing lunches Fayt had ever have.

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The view from atop a tree was always the best, the blood-eyed swordsman smirked, for being on the top made him feel big, superior, and awesome. Everything would seem so small—even the greatest elephants would be reduced to mere peas. Looking down on things was one of Albel's hobbies, and he thus derived no small amount of pleasure on tall structures such as rooftops of mountain peaks, and in his current case, the tallest, biggest tree in school. The wind was lovely, the air fresh and rejuvenating while the chirping of avian creatures pleasant—especially the crowing of crows. It would remind him of death and the smell of blood. Fully knowing him would tell anyone there's much less joy he could derive from other things. He cackled and nearly dozed off in the welcomed serenity when his tree jerked violently all of a sudden, throwing him off balance and causing him to slip off it. He landed face flat with a loud thump, mud from the earlier rain now spattered all over his uniform.

How he survived a fall from a tree twenty-five metres in height certified that this was indeed Albel Nox.

"Whoops," a blue-haired teenager with finely-shaped features and beautiful green eyes was peering sheepishly at him.

"Curses," the crimson-eyed swordsman grunted. "What the hell do you want this time, Leingod?"

"I figured you would ignore me even if I called, and no other way's faster than this," the reply came without the slightest trace of apology. The teenager fished a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to the taller man standing before him.

"How'd you know which tree I was on?" Albel grumbled, snatching the kerchief from Fayt's hand. The cloth was quickly stained with mud and dirt without the user himself getting any cleaner. Fayt sweatdropped as he watched the swordsman smear the mud further instead off removing it from his garments.

"Let me help," he coughed.

"NO." Albel rejected firmly.

Fayt sighed before snatching the kerchief from a surprised Albel. He produced a rather huge bottle of clean water with which he washed the kerchief with before _tackling the swordsman to the ground and applying the wet cloth gently and carefully on his skin._

Gracious, Albel was most certainly flabbergasted.

"Get off me!" Albel roared in protest, swinging an arm Fayt quickly pinned to the ground with immense force.

"Quit protesting and wriggling about!" Fayt cried heatedly as he struggled to pin the much taller entity, who was flinging his limbs in a manner that seemed wild but was actually very strategic. The latter was aiming most of the time for Fayt's limbs, for if he could secure just once of them he could definitely turn the tide. Fayt, however, knew very well Albel's intentions and was not going to let him carry them out. Albel raised an arm in an attempt to punch the boy off him, but Fayt had ducked just in time and forcefully tackled the arm as a leg swiftly bent in towards his back. He lifted himself off the ground while keeping his grip on Albel's arms and instinctively used his legs, on which were equipped sturdy greaves, to counter the attack. Another arm quickly came at him. The struggle was in not in the tiniest bit relenting and became long and hard.

"Get off, Leingod!" Albel roared hoarsely as he felt himself getting more heated as the struggle progressed.

"No way," Fayt shot back in irritation. "Why won't you just keep still and this'd be over in a moment!"

"What makes you think I'll gladly let you do that!" An arm directed itself at the boy.

"And what makes you think I'll let you off!" Fayt himself was running out of patience as he wrestled with the taller teen. "C'mon, just sit still and…oh!"

Fayt had lost his balance and landed abruptly on Albel's wide chest. His face was now so close he could see his own reflection dancing in his opponent's clear blood-red eyes and feel vividly the latter's warm breathing sting his face, feeling sure that the opposing party was easily digesting his breath simultaneously. His slender fingers rested on the swordsman's smooth mud-covered skin, cushioned by the latter's soft, shiny bangs while another arm lay comfortably on the firm muscles of Albel's broad shoulders although it was greased with earth and mud. His whole weight propped itself on Albel's slender figure. Fayt gazed, enthralled, at Albel's deep, crimson eyes which was sparkling with a fiery brilliance from his proximity with them, his heart pounding fast as he flushed unknowingly. Albel seemed to be in equal shock for he was not attacking back. For a moment Fayt's limbs seemed to freeze from the surprise and stupefaction as both pairs eyes continued to secure their positions. Up close, Fayt could observe and come to admire Albel's finely-carved features, mesmerising eyes and firm, fair skin, while his own eyes clouded themselves with the beautiful figure that was now before him…

"Get off." Albel grumbled suddenly, snapping Fayt from his daze.

"I-I'm sorry!" Fayt gasped, releasing his grip and scrambling away like a frightened mouse.

It wasn't just description, though, for Fayt's current state was indeed that of a frightened mouse—Albel was from every perspective a coal-faced, angry and dangerous beast and had every reason, according to his logic, to brandish his sword, charge at him, slit his throat and rip his body to pieces. Fayt shuddered at the thought and at every movement Albel was making.

"I-I'm really sorry," he apologised again.

"Scram," Albel spat, seething with sparks and flames, his eyes curved into pulverising slits.

This time, the order evoked no protests. Fayt ran away as quickly as his feet could carry him. He dodged fearfully a rock that Albel had sourly aimed at him as he exited the clearing.

Upon reaching the gents' with the assurance that he was a safe distance away, he stopped to catch his breath and gazed at himself in the mirror. His face was hot, sweaty and glowing a deep shade of red beneath a layer of mud. His mind was still overwhelmed with the image of Albel at such closeness, and the picture became clearer and less obstructed his heart skipped a beat; he could still feel vividly the warmth and comfort Albel radiated, which appeared to glue themselves to the boy's stiff skin. _Wait a minute_, he flustered, _what in the world is happening to me!_ With a quick twist the tap in front of him gushed spurts of cool water with which he refreshed his face and cleaned his garments with. With each splash he attempted to shake off weird thoughts swimming wildly in his head and though it was in vain, he continued his actions as if it helped. He stopped and turned the tap off only when he heard the bell rang in the distance. He quickly neatened himself and dashed back to class.

"My goodness," his teacher commented when he saw the boy drenched and muddy. "What happened to you?"

"I slipped carelessly into a pool of mud," Fayt quickly replied.

The rest of the day seemed to pass by unnoticed. Before Fayt realised school had ended and he was dismissed. He was still unable, however, to forget the images of Albel that rooted themselves firmly in his mind. With quick steps he dashed out of the school gates and vanished into the distance.


	6. Tutoring Through

Chapter 6: Tutoring Through

Albel had not greeted him in his usual manner—this time, when the blue-haired boy stepped into the house in his clean white T-shirt and navy blue Bermuda his sword clashed not with that of his student, and that worried him a little—for although he had advised the latter against such greetings it was actually the best way to deduce Albel's Mood of the Day, and the absence of such meant worsening distance between both of them. The dark-haired swordsman was seated in a most peaceful fashion as he appeared to be in deep cogitation, and as Fayt entered his narrowed eyes stared and registered every movement the latter was making. Fayt was in, no doubt, an absolute state of uneasiness and discomfort as Albel's eyes seemed to invite him out of the room.

"Gee," Fayt sweatdropped. "Why the sour mood?"

Albel gave no reply, and this made the blue-haired boy's queasiness rise.

"All right, let's start," Fayt began, clearing his throat. "It's already mid-term, so I would expect a few tests to be around the corner…Albel, are you listening to me?" he peered cautiously at the swordsman, who was giving him the eeriest faraway look possible.

That seemed to do the trick, for Albel abruptly replied, "what?"

Fayt shifted. He wondered if the dark-haired youth was still angry at him for what happened the week before. Well…he wouldn't deny that it was his fault to begin with, but he wanted merely to have a good lunch with him like a normal friend, hopefully able to establish a good rapport with the Wicked One. Giving it some thought, that seemed entirely impossible given the position he was in, and he sighed ruefully before repeating his statement, "I mentioned that some tests should be coming up as it's already mid-term. I'll need you to inform me if any arises."

"None that I know of currently," Albel retorted nonchalantly.

"That's impossible, I've had three tests already myself," Fayt frowned, some part of him aware that the taller man wouldn't be shaken even if it was the end of the world, much less a class test. Albel was never much of a listener—few should be the occasions he would actually take note of an upcoming event. Perhaps all his life class tests had been surprise ones—who knows? Fayt sighed again before picking up a book and noticed a slip of paper in between the back pages.

"What's this?" he asked aloud. Albel's eyes grew round and big as he saw what Fayt was holding.

"Give me that!" he lunged as the boy dodged his attack smoothly.

"Math test next Tuesday, chapters 8 and 9…" Fayt murmured delightedly to himself. "Why, Albel, you do take notes after all!"

"Shit," the taller teen cursed as he seated himself back in his chair, with Fayt following his actions.

"We have five days to prepare for this test!" Fayt clapped his hands joyfully. "Let's work hard at it, Albel!"

For the first time ever, Albel was lamenting his wretched fate.

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"…which means that _y_ is 2.457," Fayt finished.

"So?" came an uninterested reply.

"So you can solve for _x_ with this value _y_," the blue-haired boy explained.

"That's easy," Albel replied, blatantly signalling for his mentor to explain the entire procedure to him again.

Fayt sighed. Albel may be uncooperative, but he was certainly no fool—his ability to grasp concepts could actually best many poorer students in reality, the previous lessons had testified to that. Fayt realised that it was important to keep his student's emotions in check, for it was much easier to uproot a tree than to get him to cooperate if he was in no mood to do so. The previous lesson, however, had spoken on the fruits of patience, and Fayt decided that he should probably make use of it a second time.

"Then try," he ordered, some part of him convinced that Albel would fail.

The swordsman, however, knew those two words all too well—those could very well be interpreted as 'I won't let you off unless you do a good job' with reference to past experiences. He could not best a Fayt Leingod when it comes to patience, and that of his was wearing thin. He glared at the apprehensive teen in disgust. _All right,_ he surrendered, as he studied the question posed to him scrupulously. Upon scrutinising the sum an apparent pattern emerged—and that pattern actually applied to all other questions as he carefully ruminated over them. _Wait a minute,_ he thought, _haven't I seen this same method in that other chapter I did?_ He quickly flipped over the pages in front of a startled Fayt and thoughtfully committed a long list of steps to his brain. _It tallies,_ he realised, and the picture became a whole—Albel had carefully pieced every part of the puzzle together and was now looking clearly at an immense but complete picture of the theory he was studying. His mind whirled in surprise as his fingers quickly worked its way with a pencil through the sum.

Fayt, on his part, was astonished. It took no fool to know that his student had spared him no attention all along when he expounded the concepts over glasses of lemonade, and somehow he was actually deriving the theory with some monstrous stuff his brain actually contained. He watched the long list of steps that was being written—those were things in the later chapters that have yet to be covered, yet Albel was able to link and understand it with whatever meagre concepts his brain withheld. Fayt witnessed various theorems being used in a crazy yet logical way, and he could feel himself stirring with excitement; his student is a possible genius, and if he could actually maintain his current condition during the test there's no way that he wouldn't pass!

Albel, however, was unable to obtain the specified answer when he finished. He frowned in irritation and cast his pencil aside. "This book's crazy," he grumbled, slumping against his chair as an excited Fayt checked through his working.

"You're getting it," Fayt replied happily, "you're getting it. You're almost there. It's just that…"

"Yeah?"

"You copied the question wrongly in the first place."

Albel quickly sat up and snatched the book from Fayt's hands.

"Shoot," he mumbled.

"'s all right," Fayt beamed. "You're doing absolutely terrific. Not many people can think of such methods actually. There's a shorter and faster way to do this sum."

"Like?"

"Like what this chapter is about. If you could use and manipulate these laws here, this question should be a cinch."

"Let me see that."

Albel stared at the page for a very long time as Fayt waited patiently, sinking his teeth into the softness of a cake.

"This is easy."

"That's good," Fayt disregarded as he picked up his own pencil and proceeded to repeat his explanation to a grumpy Albel Nox. The latter's blood-red eyes now fixed themselves intently on the textbook spread before them as Fayt explained the concepts bit by bit, pausing every now and then to ensure Albel had fully understood and grasped the fundamentals of functions before he proceeded any further. These Albel answered with surprisingly assuring nods which comforted the blue-haired boy very much—he had finally obtained Albel's much wanted attention, and smiled upon realising how easy it actually was to do so. Mirage was right; all he had to do was just to persevere a little, and there's nothing more rewarding than the sweet taste of success to be relished afterwards.

"To sum it all," Fayt concluded with finality, "You'll need six points to sketch a graph—the turning point, the end points, the x-intercepts and y-intercept. Any problems so far?"

Albel shook his head reassuringly. His fingers fumbled for his pencil at Fayt's command to attempt a question, determined this time to do a good job. His brain recalled the steps Fayt worked out earlier; completing squares, substituting values. Factorise. And once you've obtained the coordinates you sketch the graph and a tangent. Things were looking good and Albel was surprised at how easy functions actually was—or how Fayt was able to reduce complicated things to simple ones which Albel could understand. Within minutes the dark-haired swordsman had produced a reasonable-looking graph which pleased Fayt very much.

"Fantastic," he praised. "If things keep up there's no way you'd fail your test."

"It was too easy," came Albel's scornful reply, though hints of pride and satisfaction could be detected in his voice.

"That's wonderful news," Fayt cheerfully replied. "By the way, I have to make my leave now, and I realised that there are actually chapters that I have not covered so I'll be coming over again this Friday to clear the chapters. Then we'll do a thorough revision on all the chapters that's to be tested on Sunday. After that, we should be…"

Albel's eyes were bulging out of their sockets while his jaw dropped. "Hold it, worm," he cut in, "I thought our tuition sessions are limited to only once a week."

"Not with a test, it's not," Fayt answered mischievously, a playful glint in his emerald-green eyes.

"I'm not agreeing to it," Albel declared firmly. "What gives you right to gain control over _my_ time?"

"My position as a tutor, of course," the blue-haired teen shrugged his shoulders. "See you on Friday, then. Oh, and remember to do the homework I assigned."

"You assigned work?" Albel asked, incredulous.

"What's tuition without homework, Wicked One? Of course I gave you plenty," Fayt teased, growing to enjoy every minute of it, for Albel's reactions were nothing short of comical.

"Forget it, Leingod, I won't do them," he spat.

Fayt rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that."

"Fine," Albel grumbled as he turned his back on his tutor. "I said I won't do it, and I won't. Albel Nox doesn't do homework."

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"Marvellous. I know you'd do it."

Fayt's predictions had seemingly been fulfilled, for Friday saw Albel's completed assignment lay on the table, with its badly bruised owner grumbling and shooting sour death glares, which Fayt completely ignored. The blue-haired boy, meanwhile, was nothing short of ecstatic as he went to check Albel's work.

"You cheat," Albel grumbled, "You told that woman about my work and thus had her force me to do it!" His mind brought back moments of terror and anger as the images of Nel bounding him and threatening to kick him down atop the Pisa surfaced with much hatred and disgust. How he managed to get to the top of the tower alive was something he considered a miracle on its own, for the path was aligned with traps and attacks; Nel then had forced him to complete his given assignment at the edge of the tower, where a kick was all it needed to send the dark-haired swordsman down to the ground. The wind blew strong, and his paper flew all over the place, causing him to chase after them with his dear life for Nel had refused to help—"Surely the Wicked One can do something as simple as chasing paper without my help, right?"—and nearly falling off the tower as a paper flew out of reach. Albel's revolting first experience in doing homework had now caused him to bear a deep, putrid grudge for it.

Well…the Pisa was never a good place to do work.

That is, unless you're Albel Nox.

The pieces of paper Albel had done his work on had large holes on them, possibly from being pinned by the Crimson Scourge to keep them from flying off.

Fayt chuckled with amusement as he imagined a frantic Albel Nox running on the rooftop of Italy's possibly most famous tower after bits of paper fleeing mockingly away from him with each gust of wind, or an enraged one sitting at the edge of the same rooftop, feeling all the weight of gravity pulling him down, while working furiously on functions and logs. His heart warmed at the thought that Albel actually finished his work although it was done against his will. Gazing through the steps, Fayt could not help but to let out another giggle which irked the blood-eyed swordsman very much.

"What's so funny?" He inquired bitterly.

"You," Fayt tittered. "I find you funny."

Whooops. That was a forbidden sentence, was it not?

"Piss off, Leingod," Albel's eyes glowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Because, Albel," Fayt explained heartily, "you're unexpectedly approachable."

Albel's hair stood on end as he choked on his own glass of lemonade at the statement, spilling the sweet, yellow liquid all over his skirt.

"SHIT!" He roared furiously.

At the action there was little Fayt could do but to double up his laughter, his hands clutching his sides hard as his merry voice rang throughout the entire house. Albel cursed and swore in the most unimaginable fashion, which worsened Fayt's laughter, which, now uncontainable, had caused him to bend forward and lean his head against the table for support. There was a loud crash as Albel threw the glass fiercely, disintegrating it into shiny, dangerous fragments, and the crash must have been very loud for Nel quickly came into the room.

"What's going on now…" she began, but upon seeing the broken glass and Albel's wet skirt her voice trailed off, her eyes grew big and her lips was curving fast into a delighted smile. Albel freaked out at the sight of his mother.

"Bwahahahaha!" came Nel's hysterical laughter, which sent herself reeling.

"Shut up, woman!" the swordsman's face was turning as red as his eyes. "Let me explain, I didn't pee in my pants--"

At those words both his tutor and mother merely laughed harder at the outraged swordsman.

It was a long while before the laughing duo finally pacified their minds and calmed their euphoria. Albel had changed into a new skirt and was sitting grumpily in a corner, his ire shown in his every breath that shot like hot steam. Sparks flew about him like pure potassium placed in water. Nel soon excused herself after clearing the mess.

"Don't pee again, now," she had teased before she left.

"Shut up," was all Albel could say as Fayt struggled once again to contain his laughter.

That Sunday saw Fayt handing Albel a silver key-shaped pendant before he left after lesson.

"What's this?" Albel asked.

"It's a charm," Fayt smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling like little stars. "For good luck."


	7. Another Midday

_Whew. 'bout time our favourite pink girl comes in, no._

_Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm deeply touched, I really am. Although I felt that the previous chapters were rather awkward, I guess everything worked out anyway. This should probably be the last chapter I'm posting before I retire for a while--what with, my English final year exam starting next week..._

_Gosh, save me, Fayt!p_

Chapter 7: Another Midday

The morning started very pleasantly for Fayt that Monday. The cool breeze ruffled his hair pleasantly, like a father stroking gently his son's head, while the flowers in the school garden were in full bloom thanks to the hard work of the school's Gardening Committee. The white stone pavement had been swept clean and was pleasant to walk on, while the sun cooperated mercifully by not scorching relentlessly anything as it usually loved to do, thus blessing the entire morning with rare fine weather. Fayt whistled a cheerful tune as he strolled slowly to class, feeling the beautiful weather slowly lift up his spirits. A bag slung on one shoulder, books under an arm and the pair of spectacles resting calmly on the bridge of his nose was causing him to look like a boring bookworm.

He heard a familiar voice come from the distant.

"Fayt!"

The boy hastily turned.

Running towards him was a young girl around his age, with long hazel-brown hair that danced up and down as she ran. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement as her lips broke into a wide and pretty smile. An arm waved wildly with energy as she increased her speed, her skirt flying carelessly about. Everything about her was neat and tidy; her adorned pink uniform gave the impression that it must've taken ages to iron while hair was carefully combed, fastened neatly with a pin by the side.

"Sophia," Fayt waved cheerfully back. The girl had been one of his greatest friends for as long as he can remember, owing to her pleasant, helpful and undiscriminating attitude, and to the fact that they were once neighbours. Unlike himself, his neighbour was amazingly rich—her father owned a few estates, properties and three mansions, all of which are very well equipped, and as the only child of the family Sophia was heiress to all of them. Despite all the riches, however, Sophia never failed to treat people with respect, impressing everyone by how well-mannered she was. She paused and panted slightly as she caught up with her blue-haired friend.

"Is anything the matter?" Fayt inquired politely.

"Oh, nothing," the young girl answered. "It's just that…um…we rarely have the opportunity to see each other and…I…was just wondering how you are doing."

Fayt noticed a deep blush creep up the girl's soft cheeks. "Thanks for your concern," he smiled. "I'm doing great, how are you?"

"Life's been very hectic. What with the upcoming tests and all…" the volume of her voice dropped noticeably all of a sudden. Fayt saw too that the girl was fidgeting nervously.

"I-is something wrong?" he asked, concerned.

Sophia jumped at the remark. Golly, was she that obvious? "Oh, no, nothing at all! I was just wondering…um…if you're…free later on?"

"Oh," Fayt chuckled. "I'm afraid not. You see, I've recently taken up a tutoring job…"

"What!" the girl exclaimed. "I mean, er…really? How's…everything?"

Fayt paused to give the question some thought. His mind brought back images of various tuition sessions with the Wicked One—though they appeared well on the surface, Fayt knew that deep down he was actually fearful of the consequences ahead of him, and hence tried his best not to annoy Albel too much. Plenty were moments of frustration whenever Albel misbehaved during lessons, and there was also the lunch session which clearly displayed the swordsman's distrust towards him, as towards everyone else. Albel had conjured a barricaded himself in a high, formidable wall, and whatever Fayt was doing so far had not amounted to much—really, how was his relationship with Albel Nox?

"I'm managing," Fayt answered, half-lying through his teeth. He would not want his girlfriend to worry about him.

"Is she a very pretty girl?" Sophia asked, trying her best to hide her fears.

"Oh no," Fayt laughed. "He's a very handsome young man, in fact."

Handsome. Fayt pondered overwhere he had gotten that word from. His mind now conjured the image of Albel from the last lunch session before reminding him of his student's comical look when he had lemonade all over his prized skirt. Although the latter caused him to giggle, Fayt _had_ to admit that the swordsman _is_ rather good-looking—if only he could have a better attitude.

There was undisguised relief, however, in Sophia's voice. "I see," she giggled.

"I have to go now," Fayt spoke, looking at his old watch. "Class is starting soon, and I wouldn't like to be late. See you later, Sophia."

"Oh, do wait but a moment. Um…"she hurriedly dug her hands into the contents of her brown-and-pink rucksack and fished out a small canvas bag. "Here you go. I had a bit of time yesterday and tried a little baking." She pressed the bag into Fayt's hands.

Fayt's emerald eyes sparkled shades and stars, his lips curving into a delighted smile. "Is this…for me?"

Sophia nodded earnestly. Fayt's face shone as he opened the bag to have the fragrance of cookies waft pleasantly through his nostrils. The cookies came in various shapes and sizes with generous amounts of chocolate chips and nuts, painstakingly baked to a mouth-watering golden brown.

"These look absolutely great!" Fayt praised gratefully, smiling delightedly at the bashful girl. "Thank you very much!"

At the comment Sophia turned pink with pleasure. Either that or she was blushing very deeply. Her heart throbbed so quickly and loudly she was afraid her blue-haired friend could hear it. "Um…don't mention it! I think you'd better go, before it gets late…"

"See you sometime soon," Fayt said, bidding the brown-haired girl goodbye in a polite fashion. "Thank you very much for the cookies."

"It's my pleasure," Sophia replied, returning the blue-haired boy's smile. "Enjoy your lessons."

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Albel the Wicked was in a dilemma.

He had checked his timetable against that of Fayt Leingod's class and found out that their lunch break that day fell on the same period.

That spelt a high chance of the same Fayt Leingod disturbing his wonderful recess, for the smaller swordsman had proved the taller one to be capable of somehow deducing which tree the latter would be on every occasion. Grudgingly and to avoid having to listen to the silly kid's rambles he had once, _very reluctantly_, moved from the tallest tree to the next tallest one only to have Fayt send him tumbling down as usual on the first kick. It appeared virtually impossible to deceive those emerald-green eyes. Now, lunch break was speedily approaching and he had not thought of a way to rid himself of Fayt Leingod.

His bum certainly hurts and, as you can see, Albel the Wicked was facing a dilemma.

A flash of brilliance lit up in his head, and suddenly, he thought of a plan considered brilliant for something _thought up_ by Albel Nox!

"Of course," he muttered to himself. He could always cling hard on to a tree and ensure that he does not fall when Fayt kicks it, thus fooling the silly kid that he was not on the tree while he actually was! Then the boy would continue to kick the rest of the trees and leave with disappointment upon realising that the clever Albel Nox was not on them either, and Albel could laugh his head out with glee at the boy's stupidity while bathing himself in the glory of his genius when Fayt had foolishly left the clearing. My, this does seem like a perfect plan! And only the mighty Albel was able to think of it.

"Of course," the Wicked One repeated evilly. Fayt had been making sport of the dark-haired swordsman since he appeared. Now, Albel Nox would have his revenge.

The sound of the bell signalled that it was time for Albel Nox to cleverly execute his plan. The blood-eyed youth's face shone radiance as he darted swiftly to his station and secured his position before the arrival of Fayt Leingod. He pierced his sword into the thick trunk of the school's tallest tree and gripped the handle tightly while steadying himself on a sturdy branch. He leaned in an angle that allowed him a movement aligned with that of the tree to avoid detection should he titter slightly when the tree vibrates. Well-concealed from sight below but able to survey bits of the clearing above, the swordsman felt satisfied with his position and was praising himself for it when he heard footsteps echoing from the distance.

As expected, those footsteps belonged to Yours Truly.

"Aaaalbeeel," Fayt called out sweetly. "Kindly come down before I make you do so myself."

Silence, but Fayt had obviously expected that.

He carefully placed his lunch on a bench before scrutinising the crown of every tree.

Here he comes, Albel thought, bracing himself for the impending impact.

Fayt adjusted his leg greaves, kicked the air lightly for a few times and took a deep breath.

WHAM!

The tree in front of him shook violently and leaves fell like a downpour from the sky. The blue-haired boy lightly brushed off the leaves from his head and body as he waited for Albel to descend in the usual manner.

But no, Albel did not fall.

Gotcha, the dark-haired swordsman thought. A wide, malicious grin spread across his face. His eyes blazed triumphantly as he watched the boy eagerly, anticipating some foolish acts, which he would gloat over to his heart's content later. He saw the boy ready himself to give a second kick. _Ha!_ He cackled silently in his head. _It's futile, you foolish maggot, for no matter how many times you kick this tree, my grip is steady and I won't fall…_

WHAM!

The next kick produced a different effect. The vibration had caused his leg to land on a patch of soft, moist algae, and Albel soon felt his entire body slip carelessly from the branch he was on and down…

THUMP.

"Curse you, Leingod."

"C'mon, Albel, let's have lunch like normal students."

A deathly silence fell on the already gloomy place as both of them took their usual places on the stone bench. Fayt, as always, was first to start a conversation.

"Have you received your test paper?" he asked.

"Which one?" was Albel's surly reply.

"The math test we worked on earlier, of course." Fayt went on. "I'm curious to see what your marks would be."

"Are you trying to mock me, you smart little maggot?" Albel glared distastefully at the youth seated next to him.

"Oh no, never," Fayt laughed easily. He had accustomed himself to the Wicked One's foul language and considered it a permanent part of Albel Nox. After all, Albel wouldn't be Albel without his curses and death glares, would he? "So, how's the test?"

Albel silently passed the eager emerald-eyed boy something that appeared to be his test paper.

"Hey, you did retrieve it after all," he chirped. "Let's see…your score is twenty-three…and this paper is…out of _forty_!"

Fayt nearly choked on his food. He flipped the pages vigorously and repeatedly checked the paper, making mental calculations of the marks written on each page. The boy could express only astonishment as he read the words 'Well done!', written in bold, capital letters next to a hastily sketched smiling face. He pinched his face—he wasn't dreaming, was he?

"Albel, you _passed_?"

The referred party merely shrugged as he popped a slice of tomato into his mouth.

"My goodness, you passed a _math_ test!"

"So?" Albel's tone indicated nonchalance.

"This is something worth celebrating!" Fayt rejoiced, recalling the red, single-digit marks he had seen on Albel's previous test papers. "Albel, you should be proud of yourself!"

The dark-haired swordsman twitched. "Whatever for?"

"Albel, what reward would you like?"

"Huh?" The dangerous glow in Albel's crimson eyes diminished to regenerate the familiar puzzled expression his tutor would find plastered on his face.

"A proper reward is in order!" Fayt declared. "You know, to reward you for your efforts!"

"Then let's have a duel," Albel suggested, standing up and unsheathing his sword eagerly.

"Hey, why don't we go to the cinema?" Fayt chirped, ignoring Albel's previous comment. "Is there any show you'd like to watch?"

"A _what_!" Albel asked, incredulous.

"A cinema—you know, to watch a movie…" his voice trailed off. "Albel, do you know what a cinema is?"

"Those places showing cheesy romance shows?" Albel spat in apparent disgust. "Bah. Such places are for sissies."

Fayt's jaw dropped a second time. "Albel, you've never been to a cinema?" he asked, aghast.

"I have been!" the swordsman snapped quickly.

"Gracious me, then you must go to one!" Fayt declared, excitement written all over his face. "It's decided, then! I'll get a couple of reservations!"

"Leingod, are you listening to me?"

"It'll be just the two of us—you're not good with people, are you?"

"I never said—"

"Oh, there goes the bell! See you this Sunday, then, Albel, and try not to be late!"

"Wait a minute, I never said—" but before Albel could finish his sentence, the euphoric boy had jumped and dashed off in exhilaration, leaving a cloud of dust behind.


	8. A Tiny Delight

_Sorry for the late update! I'll try my best to ensure that it doesn't happen again!_

Chapter 8: A Tiny Delight

He should never have chosen that show.

But then again, this trip to the cinema was planned for Albel, no?

So he had to find something the sadomasochist would be interested in, right?

Fayt had exited the dark theatre quaking with fear. His limbs, now chilled to the bone, shook weakly as they staggered to support the seemingly overwhelming weight of his frail body. His skin was pale, his face white as sheet, his hair stood on ends. Looking but not seeing, his eyes were clouded only with the vivid portrayals of death and the afterlife. Grotesque, brutal images of the show he had just watched swirled in his mind like a whirlpool. His ears now heard only the screams and shrieks of people agonizing from their eternal torment, with the hearty, dreadful laughter of a heinous demon choking all other sounds. Blood had never appeared redder or more fear-provoking; human organs could never be more gruesome; human nature could never be more evil. Sharp, glistening claws slowly emerging from the pitch-black darkness, creeping stealthily up to a young maiden's bosom, then—rip!—her heart was in the devil's hands, and with a crunch it was crushed to pieces like a car running over shreds of rotten watermelon. The heart of the maiden was black, dirty and repulsive, and the instant it was crushed blood, reddish-brown with blobs of yellow pus, gushed out in all directions, the abhorrent murderer shrieking in delight. Fayt could smell the decomposed, repugnant odour of the rotten blood itself.

And the other maiden who died from six hundred cuts! Her screams and pleas rang shrilly in Fayt's ears, every terror and pain felt horrifyingly conveyed through her desperate voice. The executioner's face blended so well with the darkness she saw nothing at first, but when she caught a glimpse of it—oh, how terrifying it looked! Maggots and other disgusting creepers infested his rotting face, showing very clearly his blood-stained skull. His eyes bulged so much they looked as if they were falling off, with the help of some nauseating green liquid dripping from the sockets. The maiden screamed, and at the six-hundredth cut, died with a jaw dislocated from too much screaming.

Everything appeared too real for good, and there was only so much the blue-haired boy could take.

Normally, he would not be so heavily traumatized by horror movies, but it was different this time—he found himself engulfed in massive fear and trepidation as he stepped feebly out from the hall like a sea-sick elderly. His skin was developing a greenish hue as each picture, inerasable no matter how hard he tried, revived themselves repeatedly, seeming enjoying the torment inflicted on him. The bright lights outside the hall blinded his eyes, and he had to shield them from the glare, thus affecting his balance and causing him to nearly stumble and fall onto the floor. Albel had caught him by his collar just in time.

"What's wrong with you, Leingod? You look scared out of your soul," Albel sulked.

Fayt glanced at his companion. Albel did not appear to be affected one bit by the frightening show. His eyes met those of the dark-haired swordsman's. The deep redness of it instantly brought back bloodier, more gruesome memory. Fayt felt all energy drained out of him and his frozen lips grow heavier, so heavy were they Fayt was unable to move them the slightest inch. Rueful wailings rang so loudly in his ears his body seemed to vibrate as violently as his ear drums. The ground sapped dry the strength from his limbs, and at a gasp his legs gave way. Instead of the cold, hard ground, however, he landed on the warmth and softness of someone's coat.

"Whoa, steady!" Albel said as he caught the helpless boy in his arms. "Gee, Leingod, whatever's the matter?"

That snapped Fayt from his daze. "I-I'm sorry!" he quickly apologized, releasing his grip from his taller friend. He could still feel Albel's warmth and closeness against his cheeks, which was now glowing red-hot as his nose recalled the fragrance of his coat.

Albel gave him a perplexed look. "Well, let's move," he spoke. "We're jamming up the exit."

It was then that Fayt noticed the long line of people streaming orderly from the exit. They were engrossed in excited chatter about the movie that had just been screened, and a few of them appeared as terror-stricken as him. Suddenly, amidst the long line of audience, Fayt caught sight of a man with pointy nose clad in a long black cloak, his hand gripping tightly a sharp, bloody knife.

Fayt's blood froze all over.

"Leingod?" Albel echoed irritably.

The blue-haired boy was once again brought back to reality. "I-I'm sorry," he apologized again. "D-did you just say something?"

Albel cast him a peculiar gaze. "Look, maybe we should find a place to sit…"he started, a hand reaching out to his pale-faced friend. Fayt thought he saw sharp, bloody claws sprout slowly out of his friend's veins, menacingly trying to butcher his heart to pieces…

"No!"

In a moment of panic, Fayt withdrew his sword and gashed Albel's hand with a swish.

Blood flowed readily. Then there was an ear-piercing scream.

There was a clang as Fayt's sword, now stained with Albel's blood, dropped helplessly to the ground. Fayt's breathing grew heavy and hard as he realised what he had done. His hands retreated fearfully, like someone guilty of murder. Albel's face was that of astonishment as he speechlessly withdrew his bloody hand.

"I-I'm sorry!" Fayt stuttered as he clumsily grabbed Albel's hand to examine the wound. "I-I didn't mean to…oh dear, this is such a deep wound…I…I…" His voice grew small and soft as he bowed his head to avoid the swordsman's piercing, crimson eyes. He continued to stutter as he watched each drop of blood fall onto the smooth, tiled floor; would Albel now think that he hated him because of the accident?

"Um, it doesn't hurt a bit," Albel replied matter-of-factly, totally unsure of what to say. Watching one of the few who had gained his respect bawl like a puppy in front of him had not only made him uncomfortable, but also brought him immense surprise. Albel had never felt more bewildered in his life, and was about to say something when he felt a drop of water on his injured hand. He bent low to look at his blue-haired companion. Large, beady tears were trickling slowly down Fayt's red cheeks.

Then, without a warning, Fayt abruptly released Albel's hand, buried his face in the latter's chest and sobbed loudly.

"Waaaahh!"

Albel nearly jumped out of his skin.

"L-Leingod?!"

As if on cue, Fayt gave him no answer, but merely sank his face further into Albel's chest. His sobs were growing louder by the minute and more people were stopping around them, curiosity written all to well on their faces. Whispers and murmurs increased in volume, some of them holding a disgusted tone upon the sight of Albel's injured arm. More people were crowding around the messy scene. Albel quickly shot a fierce and pulverising glare, something he was highly well-versed in, in response to the ascending number of people, and the crowd wasted no time to scurry fearfully away.

"Let go of me," he then hissed vehemently to his sobbing friend.

Fayt's arms only clung harder to his cloak.

"Leingod, I said to let go of me!" he repeated heatedly, raising his voice as if to compete with Fayt's sobs. It proved futile, for Fayt was not giving him the response he wanted. Albel glared vexingly at the boy. The strong air-conditioning of the cinema was causing his injured hand to throb in pain. He glanced ruefully at his situation. _Damn it,_ he cursed, _why am I stuck with this?_

He fished out a rather large handkerchief and used it to bandage his bleeding hand. He stood, unmoving, surveying the cinema, occasionally shooting glances at his sobbing blue-haired friend. Fayt's wails eventually grew softer, and Albel placed a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Leingod, let's find a place to sit," he offered.

Fayt whimpered softly.

Albel led the boy slowly to a nearby table. As soon as Fayt sat he buried his face in his hands and cried. Albel watched him silently, contemplating on what his next move should be.

"Stay here," he finally spoke, putting a hand on Fayt's shoulder before walking away. "I'll be back in a moment." Fayt, drowned in his anguish, did not hear him, so Albel went on his way. He appeared moments later with a warm cup of hot tea in his uninjured hand.

"Here. Leingod, have a drink," he offered.

_Darn it, why was he doing this?_

Moist-eyed, Fayt picked the cup up with trembling hands and took a tiny sip. Albel watched him and grumbled.

_Darn, he sure was getting soft…_


	9. Realization

Chapter 9: Realization

"Ow, ow, ow, my head…"

Fayt woke up to the merry sound of birds chirping outside. Rays of sunlight cast bright speckles on his blanket, warming it to an oven's temperature, forcing Fayt to abandon the soft comfort of his bed. He threw his blanket aside and it slid slowly to the smooth, clean floor. He was about to get off the bed when he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his head, and it was his hand's quick reaction to clutch his head, as if it was capable of easing the pain_. I seem to have forgotten something_, he thought, and as he struggled to recall what is it that he had forgotten the door burst open with a loud wham. In rushed a lady with a hair as blue as Fayt's.

"Whoaaa! Fayt! Hallelujah, you're all right!" She sniffled, and jumped into Fayt's arms with tears in her eyes. Fayt landed back on his overheated bed with the blue-haired, bawling lady on top of him.

"Fayt, you moron, you've no idea how worried I was!" she sobbed.

Meet Maria, Fayt's overprotective twin sister.

"I-I'm sorry," was Fayt's quick reply. "H-have I done something wrong?"

"Something wrong?!" rang Maria's shrill voice. "Do you…remember what happened?"

All right, he had forgotten something after all. Let's do this slowly. He recalled being dressed up to go somewhere.

_Fayt: Well, here we are. Albel, have you thought of what you wanted to watch?_

_Albel: Look, let's just forget about my test and return home, shall we?_

_Fayt: No way! Albel, you've every right in the world to be proud of that score. This trip is to award you for your efforts. Chin up—the cinema is a really fun place._

_Albel: What care I of how fun it is? If you truly wish to applaud my efforts, why do you refuse to humour me with your sword?_

_Fayt: That's for me to know and for you to find out. C'mon, choose. Shows are starting soon, and we've yet to purchase a ticket._

_Albel: But I have absolutely no interests in movies._

_Fayt: Albel, do you enjoy Sesame Street?_

_Albel: Pardon?!_

_Fayt: You mean you really do?_

_Albel: Leingod, if you must know, I dig shows that beat the crap out of annoying little maggots like you._

_Fayt: Anything else?_

_Albel: Perhaps shows that involve squashing your puny figure to pieces. Or those that involve butchering your nasty heart into shreds after all the stuff in it has been squeezed out._

_Fayt: Gotcha. I think I know just the perfect show for you._

_Albel: (groans) I want to go home._

_Fayt: (drags Albel by his arm) C'mon, Wicked one, your time will be worthwhile, I assure you…_

And that was how they arrived at a horror show. Fayt sweatdropped upon realising how silly the incident was.

The fog in his brain gradually began to clear, and his memory jogged up the most grotesque images of the show he watched. Now that he was in the comfort and security of his room the images did not frighten him as much, but he still had to restrain a sudden temptation to puke upon recalling Mr Maggot-face. He dismissed the vile thoughts and focused on what happened next. He had exited the dark theatre trembling like a shivering puppy. Then…uh…

"I…I was at the cinema," he mumbled, turning to his sister. "Maria, how did I get here?"

"A tall, handsome man escorted you home. You were out cold, so he had you supported on his shoulder…goodness…" Maria must have said a thousand other things about how anxious she was, or how relieved she is now, but only her former words were registered in Fayt's brain.

"Um…what was the tall, handsome man like?" Fayt asked, dreading the answer.

"Hm. Very fine features, good complexion, coal-black hair, but his most distinguishable feature is his pulverising, blood-red eyes."

Why did he even bother to ask?

If there was a hole, Fayt would have loved to jump straight into it right then and there.

A series of events played in Fayt's mind: Fayt was crying in front of Albel Nox because he had just watched a really horrifying movie. Albel Nox would doubtlessly be really shocked—he had only encountered screaming people, not sobbing people—and would proceed to give him the most incredulous expression his amazement could produce. Albel stiffened and stood perfectly still for a while, not knowing what to do. Then, Albel finally decided that the best thing to do was to send Fayt home.

_Albel decided that the best thing to do was to **lend Fayt his shoulder** till he reached home._

Slim were the chances that Fayt had not dirtied his freshly-ironed windbreaker after slicing his blade into Albel's flesh. Picture also how difficult it should be for Albel to keep his cool while carrying the unconscious boy home with a multitude of people staring strangely at his bleeding hand. Fayt's house was on the fifth storey and the elevators were being serviced, so Albel would have to squeeze in the cramped, neglected, dusty staircase five storeys up. There would also be a host of other problems which Fayt was too terrified to think of.

The last thing that Fayt wanted to do was something that would agitate the Wicked One, and he had done it. Perhaps he should have paid heed to Albel's words and duelled him instead. Now Albel the Wicked would finally demonstrate to him the meaning behind his name. Such thoughts swirled haphazardly in Fayt's mind, sending shivers down the blue-haired boy's spine.

But fear was not the only feeling in the boy's mind. Fayt felt as if his heart had been chopped into two. Recalling how Albel would relish seeing his tutor's heart shredded into cheese, he knew that Albel would rejoice at his current torment, and he sank deeper into grief at the thought. Waves of remorse and guilt kept crashing and further burdened his already heavy heart. What did Albel think of him now? Would he hate him? How was he supposed to face the Wicked One from now on?

"…Fayt, are you okay? Your face is all red…"

Maria's concerned voice snapped Fayt out of his stupor.

"Mm-hm. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, you can take the day off if you're tired."

"I'm fine, really. Guess I'd better get going before I'm late for school. See you, sis."

"Be careful. Don't overexert yourself. The exams should be around the corner and I don't want you falling ill in the midst of your preparations."

"I'm not a child anymore. Have a good day at work, sis."

He had to meet Albel. He had to see him, and pester him for answers to his questions even if he had to put his life at risk.

The least he could do was to apologise, anyway.

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"…so we'd have to increase the awareness of discipline amongst the student body…"

Yaaaawn.

"…since the teachers have been complaining about it…"

Streeetch.

"…so as to ensure that such incidents do not happen again…"

Snore…

"…MR FITTIR! Are you listening to me?!"

Cliff, a blonde Klausian with handsome features and a well-built body, awoke from his sleep with a start. "I'm sorry, Mirage," he yawned a second time, "did you say something?"

It was a usual-occurring situation. Mirage magically fished out a twenty-tonne hammer and attempted to hammer the squealing Klausian into the ground.

"Gah! Mirage, stop! You're creating more dents in my beautiful tiled floor!" squealed Cliff.

"Dents? Where? I see no dents." Mirage's voice was soft and dangerous.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and all the animals danced energetically in the fine weather, en evident display of their ecstasy. I mean, just look at the one in front of Mirage right now.

Cliff jumped, twirled, evaded and dodged, with Mirage hot at his heels. He somersaulted to evade a blow by mere millimetres, and Mirage's hammer slammed into the ground, breaking Cliff's 'beautiful tiled floor' to bits. He screamed in agony, then climbed up a cupboard, which Mirage too smashed to bits. Cliff squealed another time, and the both of them continued racing around in the Student Committee Office.

"Mirage, please," Cliff pleaded. "The cupboard you just destroyed was an antique! How am I going to answer to the principal right now?"

"Don't you worry about that," Mirage growled, her voice terrifyingly calm. "I'll make sure you're dead before someone else gets to kill you."

She slammed the hammer down. While it missed Cliff's assets it struck his little toe, and he roared loudly like a lion.

"AAAAARRRGH!!"

Suddenly, the door slammed open and a teacher entered the room.

"What's going on here?" He demanded, horrified.

"My, my, Cliff, I really can't approve of you playing such games and roaring indecently like a beast," Mirage quickly spoke. "Pardon me, sir. I had just entered the room myself, and the first things I saw were all this debris and this man wanting to play Lion."

"No!" Cliff wanted to explain, but the pain he experienced was so excruciating his words came out as howls of anguish. The teacher looked disapprovingly at his behaviour.

"Mr Fittir, I expected better of you," said the teacher, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Padon me, sir. This is partly my fault. I should've kept a close eye on him. I shall deal with this matter personally," Mirage spoke.

"Very well, Ms Koas. I expect this mess cleared up as soon as possible," he ordered.

"Rest, assured, sir, and have a good day," Mirage replied, putting on her best, business-like smile.

She turned to her blonde pet now that the teacher had left.

"Curse you, Mirage," Cliff howled.

"Did you say something, Chairman?" Mirage asked sweetly, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, no, nothing. You must be hearing things."

Mirage sighed and wondered how much longer she had to put up with such games.

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Nothing else beats lunch, is there? It was the period which introduced Albel to Fayt, when both of them talk about things, when one gets to kick the other off a tree, and when the two of them develop some form of intimacy.

So it was then that Fayt decided he should confront his crimson-eyed student.

_Calm down_, he pacified his wrecked mind, _calm down_. It's Albel we're talking about. Albel is not one to commit unreasonable murder.

_What am I saying?!_ It's precisely because it's **_Albel Nox_** that he would _gladly_ feast his taste buds on your blood!

Fayt walked towards the clearing with much unease. A flaming tornado of fear surged in and took its place in the blue-haired boy's conflicting mind—for one, he was most reluctant to see the swordsman, but for another he really wanted to apologise. His brain repeatedly projected images of Albel rejecting his apology and telling him off with frozen, blood-red eyes, the threat of a menacing sword in assistance. The blood in his body had seemingly solidified; Fayt found it increasingly difficult to walk with each step, as if someone had attached weights to his limbs. With every feeling of fatigue he became breathless; everything appeared to prevent him from his attempt to reconcile with his student. He reasoned that Albel was nothing to be afraid of—after all, if he was so angry he wanted to butcher his tiny heart Fayt was sure the black-haired swordsman would have executed that long ago. The fact that his lungs were functioning normally had to mean something, and Fayt consoled himself with the thought.

As he neared the clearing where Albel usually resides during lunch, his clear, emerald eyes saw something amiss.

Instead of monkeying atop a tree, Albel was sitting on a cool stone bench, one slender leg on top of another. He leaned against the bench, his face towards the boundless, azure sky, his fiery eyes casting a faraway look. They held a firm, dreamy expression, with a calmness so reassuring Fayt's fears was allayed for brief moments. His complexion was unusually beautiful—his skin gleamed and reflected shades of sunlight, his passionate lips radiating a soft, inviting warmth. His chest heaved gently as he breathed. His bandaged hand rested coolly on his lap. Everything was coordinated with a mysterious, unexplainable serenity, as if Albel himself had been waiting for Fayt to show up.

Fayt could feel his heart pound rapidly. At the sight of such a beautiful figure his face glowed red-hot, and his breathing became less coordinated. He felt himself slowly drowning in Albel's dreamy figure, and he had to admit that he was enjoying himself until Albel's crimson eyes darted swiftly to confront Fayt's emerald ones.

Fayt was instantly reminded of his fear and jumped. He shrank as he could feel butterflies flying all over his stomach.

"Leingod," Albel, surprisingly, was first to initiate the conversation.

Fayt felt his throat twisting into a fearful knot, and it took almost everything he had to undo it. "I-I'm here to apologise," he stammered. "I…I'm sorry to have ruined your first cinema experience…"

"I mentioned before that it wasn't my first," Albel quickly spoke.

"…and I'm sorry to have cut your hand," Fayt continued. "I realise that I have behaved in a most inappropriate manner. I extend my heartfelt apologies."

Albel looked strangely at him. "Leingod, such words do not sound like you at all."

"Albel, I'm really sorry. I hope that incident would not affect our relationship in any way."

"Was that what you were worried about?" Albel said. "Rest easy, Leingod. We never had any relationship to begin with in the first place."

Fayt knew that such words were the Wicked One's norms, but after the incident they seemed to have a special effect. They pierced Fayt's heart deeply, and the pain he experienced was so intense his brain lost the ability to reason with the fact that Albel's words is to be considered on rare occasions. The blue-haired teen clenched his sweaty palms and continued awkwardly.

"I…see," he managed with difficulty. "So I assume that I'm still allowed to…have lunch with you and…"

"What are you muttering, Leingod?" Albel replied. "You said before that this is public grounds. It's not up to me if you want to stay here for ten years or something."

It was evident that Albel had lost all respect for him. Anguish flooded Fayt's little heart. He had never felt a pain so suffocating before. The truth of Albel's title was finally beginning to manifest itself in his brain.

"Leingod, you okay?" Albel asked. "Maybe you should rest a little more. I'd tell that woman Zelpher you're sick today, so you don't have to come down anymore."

Fayt's heart shrank. Albel's statement of reject was worse than what his brain had calculated the Wicked One would do. He bowed his head low towards the ground and clutched his aching chest. Cold sweat trickled down his smooth, soft skin. "Perhaps you're right," Fayt squeaked. "Thank you for your concern."

Albel merely shrugged. Fayt bowed politely before dashing out of the grounds.

The Wicked One had not yet brandished his sword, yet it was a total disaster.

He ran down corridors, stairs and more areas in the school grounds, not knowing where he was going. After a certain distance his feet eventually brought him in front of a large, sturdy door. It was one belonging to the Student Committee Office. He knocked softly before entering a room which looked like an earthquake had just occurred. Exhausted, he seated himself on a fluffy, comfortable couch and buried his face in his hands. His face was warm, but his hands were cold. Albel's words were that powerful. Fayt was undergoing an agony he had never tasted—_why_, Fayt's brain kept asking, when all he did was just to say a few sentences. How is it that each sentence could have such a profound impact on him? Fayt had tuned himself to Albel's negative thoughts and feelings, and he could perceive every ill thought Albel had towards himself—his disappointment, his boredom, and his lack of respect. He recalled something about 'that woman Zelpher', and the only logical reason Fayt's brain could produce for its existence would be her.

He inhaled deeply to calm his nerves and clear his blocked head. He was sighing deeply when his brain registered a funny thought in his head.

_That's right_, he recalled. _This feeling, how it can be described…I have read this somewhere before_. His brain rocketed into action, digging his immense literature database with much vigour. This suffocating feeling, this fear of rejection, this intense sorrow…it's a feeling which Fayt had read too many times in various books, and as the truth slowly began to surface Fayt was jolted out of his sinking depression by an overwhelming surprise. Fayt recounted countless romance novels his sister Maria—an devout Christian and a fan of romance novels—would share with him every now and then.

_No way_, he stirred, with growing shock and astonishment.

_This indication…_

_Could it be love?_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"But I'm not gay."

That statement did not console Fayt in the very least, however. Brain and mind came into conflict—on one hand, Fayt was most perfectly straight, for he had to admit liking Sophia very much. In addition, it was unthinkable that Fayt could fall for Albel, for the swordsman had never done anything pleasing to Fayt. If there was any memory Fayt could recall of Albel, that would be their quarrels, how much Albel hated Fayt, how explicitly he showed them. Logically, no one would ever like someone who treats him or her badly.

But there were those moments which made Fayt queerly happy.

Moments like when they had lunch together. When Fayt would glance up the trees, eyes searching for the ever-obvious purple skirt among the greens like a child finding a pet dog which had gone astray. When Fayt would kick that tree and watch Albel tumble down, cursing in a most laughable manner. When Albel would finally agree to focus on his work, producing astonishing results. When Albel was tired with math, and the both of them would just chat over casual things like normal friends over the cool, sweet glasses of lemonade Nel prepared.

And when Fayt knew that Albel was constantly looking forward to him coming over (even if it was for the wrong reasons), he was genuinely delirious.

A tear slowly slid down Fayt's cheek. He brushed it away—he was too old for tears. And too young for love.

Yet, his whole being wished that Albel was there, right then, jeering at him in his usual condescending tone.

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"Fayt's late."

Blame it on the bad weather, Nel first reasoned. But it has been over an hour, and sweet Fayt still has not showed up. For someone who has never been late before even if there was a typhoon, it was most certainly very bizarre. Nel glanced at the pie she bought from a nearby store earlier—it was getting cold.

"I wonder what's keeping him," Nel wondered aloud, giving Albel a long, suspicious stare.

The coal-haired swordsman felt a vein pop.

"Why are you looking at me, woman?" he retorted. "I'm not his guardian or anything. GAH!" he cried as he ducked quickly to dodge a flying dagger, which was whizzing for his head.

"_The hell!"_ Albel bellowed furiously. "You sneaky woman, if it's a fight you're looking for—"

"Fayt's_late_," Nel repeated, her voice soft and dangerous. Albel shrank quietly to his chair.

Now Albel was furious. When he returned home with a bleeding hand the day before, Nel dismissed his blaming for it and scolded him for getting into a fight instead. Albel tried to reason, but Nel refused to believe—why would _Fayt Leingod_ do such an absurd thing in the first place? _I don't know,_ Albel answered truthfully, which ended the conversation, leaving Albel naturally enraged. And now that he's late for tuition, the stupid woman was not angry at Fayt for it but labels Albel the culprit.

Why was it always him?!

He gazed out of the window, gritting his teeth with much irritation. "Maybe the maggot's taken ill," he growled.

At this, Nel's eyes widened. She leapt out of her chair and grabbed Albel by the shoulders.

"OW!" Albel cried. "What the hell?!"

"Fayt's_**sick!?**_ Why didn't you tell me earlier?!" Nel demanded, her eyes blaring with fury and concern. "Of course. He's studying and working so hard at the same time—the poor boy, he is probably pretty burnt out."

Albel could only snort at the irony, earning himself a slap.

"We don't have much time to waste," Nel snapped. She opened the fridge and took out food—bread, meat, cabbage and various things. Fruits were wrapped securely in a plastic bag, tea went into a large flask. Albel watched with horror as Nel had all kinds of food packed into a large bag in minutes.

"Woman," Albel gaped, "You're not getting me to visit his place with_that._"

"No buts," Nel ordered, a Captain's authority in her voice. "I have to leave for work right now, so you have to do it in my stead. Remember to send the boy my regards."

"I don't even know where the hell his house is," Albel protested.

"Then**find out**," was Nel's answer, delivered firmly and clearly, with a look that screamed I-didn't-raise-a-son-this-big-who-does-not-know-how-to-do-simple-things-such-as-finding-a-schoolmate's-address.

Which, to Albel, made a lot of sense.

With a slam on the door and a click as the key was turned, Albel was left alone once again.

Fayt Leingod was truly the biggest trouble he'd ever come across.

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His feelings were something no one should know.

And with that, Fayt was determined to keep it a sacred, sacred secret.

Yet, something inside was urging him strongly to consult someone, to pour out his feelings and ask for directions.

"…fayt. Fayt, are you listening to me?"

Fayt snapped out of his daze. "H-Huh?" Fayt blinked, his muscles tensing. "O-Oh. I-I'm sorry, Mirage. What was that you said?"

Mirage looked at Fayt peculiarly, an action which caused Fayt to feel uneasy. "I asked if you could spearhead this project," she repeated. "Well?"

Now Fayt had plenty of tasks to do already, and his feelings aren't helping him to keep things in check. "I-I'm sorry," he apologised again. "What…is this project you're speaking of?"

"The one we have been discussing all these while?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure," Fayt blinked, trying his best to put up a reassuring face, which, he deduced from Mirage's expression, was actually not very reassuring.

The uneasy silence was shattered by the sound of a blonde Klausian's hands clapping to gain attention. "All right," Cliff declared, clearing his throat, "it looks like Fayt Leingod isn't feeling well today. Seeing how he's a key member for the project, this meeting can't proceed without him. Shall we thus adjourn this meeting as such and wish Fayt good rest and swift recovery."

Mirage shot him a deadly look. "We've completed barely a quarter of what we planned to cover, _Mr Fittir,_" she reminded.

"What are you saying, Mirage? Our members' health takes first priority," Cliff replied hastily. "As a chairman responsible for his dedicated members' welfare, I must ask to be excused so that I can attend to him and send him home—"

"I believe you'd cause him more trouble than help," Mirage stated matter-of-factly.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean? I've been taking care of sick people for as long as I can remember. I'll show you, I can do a good job—"

"Er, thanks, Cliff, but no thanks. I'm fine. I was just…a little preoccupied earlier," Fayt chipped in meekly.

"Now now, Fayt, that won't do," Cliff coughed, concern detected in his voice. "We know that you're taking a part-time job as a tutor to sustain your family. You shouldn't overwork yourself, else you fall terribly ill. I must have you know that we cannot afford to let that happen—your very presence is important to us. I must insist that you rest."

"But Cliff, I'm fine, really—"

"No buts. Be a good boy and listen to me—"

"You're just looking for an excuse to skip work," Mirage intervened, rolling her eyes at Cliff.

"Hey, what else can I do? I already have enough work as it is! Oh, oops—" Cliff paused, clamping his mouth with a hand as he realized his mistake. "I-I mean, oh, no, I'm genuinely concerned for Fayt because we're good buddies. Right, Fayt?"

Silence.

"Now c'mon, I'll take you home," Cliff decided, as he stood up, walked over to Fayt and whisked him out of his seat. "That's all for today, then. Have a good day, fellas!"

And with that, the blonde Chairman slammed the door behind him, his blue-haired friend apologizing sheepishly.

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_First of all, I must apologize for the really late update._

_ I am truly sorry for the long, overdue chapter--I was not confident about my writing as much as I like writing itself, and therefore considered it fine to drop the project. Little did I know that there are actually still a number of you out there who read this and enjoy it! It was something I honestly never expected to occur, because after so long, it was only natural for it to be forgotten. Yet, I found reviews and watchers when I checked back after so long. I was truly moved._

_ Hence, I would like to thank all of you for your encouragement, which spurred me to continue writing. You helped made this chapter possible! Thank you, thank you so much! And once again, I'm truly sorry for the delay._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The streets and shops were littered with people. Colourful signboards and attractive advertisements, coupled with the busy, excited chatter of customers, brought forth a lively atmosphere. There were plenty of things which could tickle one's sense of smell, hearing and sight, even in normal days. It was in these wonderful streets that Cliff, in an attempt to skip his Chairman duties, decided to walk Fayt, who had been behaving in a peculiar manner of late, home.

Fayt's house was not very far from the school.

"I'm really sorry about before," Fayt apologized, hanging his head low. "It was…not very polite of me to be wrapped up in my own thoughts during a council meeting, was it not?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Cliff remarked, brushing off Fayt's apology casually. "We're all…humans, y'know. There will be times when we fall sick, we get tired, we feel lazy. Happens all the time."

Fayt smiled. Cliff was a man with a big heart, and Fayt admired him for that. The Klausian had a talent for making people feel at ease despite his incompetence; his visions and goals were bigger than his size, his charisma earned him the Chairman position. Despite his popularity, he was humble, helpful and kind, making him a friend Fayt was most proud of.

"Although…" Cliff spoke thoughtfully, a hand on his chin, "I get the feeling that you're not exactly sick, but actually has problems on your mind."

Oh yes. Cliff also has superb intuitions.

"What makes you say that?" Fayt replied uneasily.

"Eh, call it a hunch," Cliff answered.

Cliff's hunches are right almost all the time. Fayt gazed at brick path ahead of him, a troubled expression on his face.

"Hey, if there's anything on your mind, don't bottle it up," Cliff commented, putting a hand on Fayt's shoulder. "If you prefer to keep it a secret, I promise not to tell a soul. And if it's something I can help with, I'll do it to the best of my ability. Cliff here is a man of his words!"

Maybe it was because he had been hanging around Albel for too long that Cliff's cheesy lines appear to have a more profound impact on him than usual, but whatever it may be, Fayt felt greatly reassured. "T-Thank you," Fayt said, glancing up at Cliff. "…promise not to tell a soul?"

"Promise," Cliff replied, his honest eyes shining like jewels. "And a man's promise is worth more than gold!"

"Well…" Fayt thought for a moment, not knowing where to begin. "I…I think I'm in love…"

His voice grew smaller towards the end of his sentence, and his face became as red as tomatoes.

Cliff blinked for a while before he spoke. "Whaaat, really?!" he cried, astonished but delirious.

Fayt nodded meekly. "I…I can't tell who it is, though…" he went on, "I mean, I'm not even sure of it myself…"

"Well, I don't know how love feels like, but I do know that it turns people soft and mushy like you are now," Cliff pointed out bluntly. "So I guess it's safe to assume that you are indeed lovesick."

_Soft and mushy,_ Fayt thought. Albel wouldn't like the sound of that. "Y-You think so?" he asked.

"Definitely," Cliff nodded gruffly, folding his arms. "Was that what you were troubled about?"

"It goes a bit deeper," Fayt admitted woefully.

"Something wrong?" Cliff asked.

"W-We had a little incident a while back and I-I think he—I mean, she—hates me now," Fayt stammered. "I-I've tried apologizing to hi—uh, her, b-but she didn't really understand where I was getting at, and…"

_And Albel didn't even like me in the first place._

Fayt sighed ruefully.

"I see," Cliff remarked, stroking his chin. "Relationship problems, huh. That's tough. I don't really like the sound of someone who doesn't understand apologies, but—oh, hey, there's someone at your door."

Neither Fayt nor Cliff had noticed the passing time, but the both of them now stood near Fayt's small apartment. At a distance, the both of them caught sight of a small-built teenager with silky, shoulder-length hair standing outside Fayt's door. She clutched a school bag tightly with one hand, and knocked on Fayt's door in a distressed manner with the other.

"Sophia?!" Fayt identified, surprised.

"Uh-hurm," Cliff coughed abruptly. "Guess I better get out of here."

"Cliff!" Fayt exclaimed, exasperated. As a daughter of the most prestigious Esteed family, the fact that a wealthy figure like her would associate affectionately with a low-class commoner like Fayt was good for gossip. It did trouble Sophia little, but Fayt found the various misunderstandings rather unpleasant. "Cut it out. You know our relationship is not like that."

"Says the boy to whom our little princess showers a lot of affection," Cliff teased.

"Cliff, we're not—"

"Ha, ha, ha," Cliff laughed heartily, slapping Fayt's shoulder a few times. "I was just kidding. But we'll continue our conversation some other time, all right?"

"Thank you for listening," Fayt spoke, beaming. It did feel better to get his problems off his chest.

"Right, right," Cliff grinned. "Now go on before you the princess gets mad."

Fayt nodded and bowed his head in gratitude before dashing off in the direction of his apartment. Cliff watched in amusement as his blue-haired friend sprinted swiftly, waving and calling out Sophia's name.

"Kids nowadays," he shrugged, shaking his head, as he turned and walked back to school.

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"Sophia!" Fayt called out, waving his hand.

Upon hearing her name Sophia turned. Her eyes widened as she saw Fayt running and waving at her. Fayt had a good running form—his steps were light but precise despite his bulky leg greaves, while his slim figure made him adorably attractive. In normal conditions, Sophia would have flushed a little at Fayt's run, but today was different. She waved back and ran to meet Fayt.

"Fayt!" she cried, jumping and hugging her childhood friend. "I-I was _so_ worried! I heard from Mirage that you were sick and thus left the Council Room early. Are you all right?"

"Whoa, calm down, Sophia," Fayt laughed, patting the brown-haired girl's back gently. "It was nothing. I just—"

"Just?"

Fayt paused. Sophia was as big a worrywart as his sister. If he told her he had something on his mind, there was no doubt that she would try to pry in. Like a mother who had not seen her child for months, Sophia's eyes spelt concern in numerous ways; in addition, Fayt had no idea how long he had made Sophia wait. Both Cliff and him had strolled in a most relaxed manner along the way. It would be discourteous of him not to show hospitability to someone who had gone through pains to see you…

"I'm just a little tired," Fayt finished, deciding to go for the usual excuse. Which should work effectively, he thought, as a reason to send her back home. It was not because Fayt disliked having Sophia around; why, she was friendly, thoughtful, sweet—a direct contrast to Albel Nox—why would anyone not want to hang out with her? After talking to Cliff, however, Fayt desired to be left alone to himself, to think about many things.

Good grief, how did Albel come into the picture again?

"Then you must rest," Sophia insisted. "Oh, but thank goodness you're safe! The moment I heard from Mirage that you were ill, I wasted no time in no rushing all the way here and…I was afraid if you had fainted out of exhaustion on your way home, so I kept a close lookout for you—"

Fayt gulped. It was just like Sophia to go to such extremities for him. He sighed and smiled uneasily. "Well…since you're already here, wouldn't you like to come in?"

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Think, Albel, _think._ What would one do if he wanted to find out where a certain nosy, troublesome brat by the name of Fayt Leingod lived?

Now stop just right there. Why the hell should Albel Nox deliver whatever junk he was carrying right now to that annoying brat's house? After all, he could just eat whatever was in that bag, throw it in a bin, feed it to the pigs or something—that bitch Nel wouldn't know, would she?

She would, if she suddenly called Fayt's house from work, and find out what the truth really is.

_Bitch,_ Albel cursed silently, as he brainstormed further on his next course of action.

He was out in the streets, wandering aimlessly, as if hoping that walking around would help. So he did carry Fayt Leingod once back home, after the cinema incident; but he had Fayt's wallet, which contained his ID card, to check back then. Perceiving no need to keep a copy of the emerald-eyed boy's address, he therefore had nothing to fall back on this time. On top of his memory failing him for some reason, he had walked Fayt home in the night before, when visibility was not too good. The black-haired swordsman realized how different buildings could look in the day and at night.

He could go back to school and force the required information from the mouth of other maggots—who wouldn't know our ever-so-popular Fayt Leingod? As Secretary of the Student Council, Captain of the Swordplay Club and an honoured student under a scholarship, Fayt was the ideal role model for many at school. Albel was probably the only student oblivious enough not to know him.

Perhaps he should do just that.

Then again, the Wicked One was equally famous as the most fearsome student around. Who wouldn't shrink back in run in terror after meeting his gaze?

_And if I approach teachers, they'll call the cops,_ Albel thought.

_But if I don't go to Leingod's house, Nel would…_

He kicked a stone on the ground bitterly, sending it flying.

"Ouch!"

Albel glanced up, the same bored expression still on his face. The stone had apparently hit a dark-skinned little girl, causing her head to throb in pain. Part of her skin was grazed, and it was bleeding a little. Despite the injury, however, she was not crying like how other normal kids would usually do. Instead, she turned to face Albel fiercely, rubbing the sore part hard.

"Hey, what's the big idea?!" she screamed heatedly. "Didn't your mommy teach you not to do such things in public?!"

"No, she didn't," Albel growled as-a-matter-of-factly. "Do you have a problem, maggot?"

"M-M-Maggot?!" the girl exclaimed, her face red with fury. "First you injure me with a stone, and now you're calling me names?! Didn't your mother teach you manners?!"

"No, she didn't," Albel repeated grumpily.

"Well, then your mom's a bitch," she spat indignantly.

"That's right," Albel agreed, perking up. No one had ever agreed with him on Nel being a nuisance before. This girl was different from those other maggots. "Girlie, what's your name?"

"Peppita," the girl replied, perplexed. "Peppita Rossetti."

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"Sophia, please, it's all right, really…" Fayt pleaded.

"No," Sophia pouted. "You're tired, so you need to rest. Please don't worry about anything and leave the housework to me for today!"

Although she was a little uneasy about entering Fayt's house initially, afraid of disturbing the latter's rest, it was not long before the green-eyed brunette made herself comfortable at home. She had known Fayt ever since he was a child, after all—he was her first friend. She further pressed on Fayt to let her help with cooking and housework; she changed out of her school uniform to something more casual, put an apron on, and produced ingredients out of her bag. In a pink tank-top and green shorts, the apron was all she needed to make herself appear even more adorable.

"I can't possibly allow that to happen," Fayt protested. "You're my guest. It's not appropriate for you to be working in my kitchen—" His voice trailed off as he saw Sophia casting a morose look on the ground. He stopped. "Uh, S-Sophia?"

"Am I…really that much trouble to you?" she asked miserably.

"Huh?"

"Fayt, is it really bothersome for me to be here?" Sophia went on, tears forming in her eyes, causing it to look glossy. "Would you have preferred for me to go away?"

"W-Why do you say that all of a sudden?" Fayt said, puzzled and astounded.

"Is…is my cooking really terrible?" Sophia sniffed. "I-I know I make mistakes sometimes, but I tried…I tried my best, so…"

"Sophia…"

Fayt stretched out his hand and brushed away a sliding tear. He fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the sobbing teenager.

This seems pretty complicated.

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Meanwhile, Albel's mood had improved slightly.

Peppita had to be one of the most agreeable kids he had ever come across. From the very first moment they met each other, her mouth kept shooting insults at Nel as if she herself held a terrible grudge against her. While this was a very strange thing indeed, the fact that she kept a confused and bewildered expression while keeping her mouth running was even stranger—why would someone continue something he does not feel comfortable doing? But who cares about that? Peppita was the first person to seemingly dislike Nel Zelpher as much as Albel does. She was the first to share Albel's sentiments, the first to understand Nel Zelpher's true identity.

In addition, she was friends with Fayt Leingod, and could tell him where the annoying blue-haired brat resided.

_I finally made it,_ Albel thought triumphantly as he stood outside an old, simple building. Parts of paint and cement had cracked and worn off, exposing the dirty bricks underneath. The cement floor was also dusty, having not been swept for a considerable amount of time. It was a far cry from Albel's well-furnished house, but such things weren't on the Wicked One's mind now. Oh no, he was busy feeling accomplished at finding the brat's house by himself, and was looking forward to heading back home as soon as he made sure Leingod had received what he had taken all the trouble to send. He stepped forward and was about to knock on the door when he noticed something amiss.

Leingod's door was not locked.

Albel shrugged. Zelpher was not there to monitor his every activity. There was no reason for him to mind his manners now, was there? He could invite himself inside. So he did.

The interior of Fayt's house was as simple as the exterior. There was nothing fancy around—a sofa, a table and a vase as a living room; a door which leads to a balcony, where he could hang his clothes to dry; rugs and mats to ease walking as the floor was fairly rough---Albel could figure out the layout the sparsely-furnished house easily in a glance. Now all he needed was to find Leingod, leave the bag and head back home. If the maggot was up to it, they could spar, and Albel would then be able to take out his frustration on the blue-haired boy. He was surveying his surroundings when he heard voices coming from deeper inside.

"…Sophia, calm down."

Leingod's voice. _From the kitchen,_ Albel located.

"I-I don't know." A young, female teenager's voice this time. "I-I get the feeling that lately, you're avoiding me…a-and you're spending more time with tuition and Mirage than me…and who knows, if there's another girl staying with your student, a sister or—"

_Someone else is with him. His family?_

"Sophia, I'm not avoiding you," was the attempt to reassure this Sophia, whoever she was. "I took up the tuition job because I needed the money. I spend more time with the Council activities because we're involved in a project, and Al—my student doesn't stay with anyone but his mother…"

The polite thing to do for most is of course, to stay quiet and eavesdrop until the very end. But Albel Nox wasn't polite. Neither did he like soap opera dramas. By now, he was pretty sick of anything involving Fayt Leingod, and wanted only to return home and sleep._What the hell,_ he thought, as he walked noiselessly towards the kitchen. _I'll just hand him this bag and leave him to continue—_

"So, Sophia, don't cry anymore…"

_Thump._

Both Fayt and Sophia turned at the sound. At the door stood Albel, a slightly flabbergasted but nevertheless calm expression on his face, witnessing a crying Sophia curled up in Fayt's arms. His bag had slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. It didn't take much out of Albel to understand that _no, that girl was most definitely not family._ Leingod would not touch a family member's skin in that tender a manner. Neither would a family member offer herself to a mature teenager of the opposite sex that way. The Wicked One thought he was steeled enough mentally for such situations, but perhaps seeing it happen before his very eyes in real life, to someone he once gave his respect to, was a little discomforting…

Fayt, on the other hand, was incredibly horrified.

"I…ah, I seem to have disturbed something important," Albel commented, turning away.

"N-No, wait a minute, A—" Fayt covered his mouth. He can't let Sophia know that this was the rumoured Albel Nox. Whatever would she say upon the discovery of their relationship?

"Zelpher wanted me to pass you this," Albel explained as he signalled to his brown bag. "Good day."

"Uh…" Fayt gasped. _Albel, wait,_ he wanted to call out. But the swordsman was famed for speed, and with that speed he exited Fayt's building in a flash. With Sophia's face still buried in his chest, it was all he could do to watch Albel disappear further and further away.

_Great,_ he thought. _Just what he really needed…_

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_ Good grief, I-I failed on my promise to update early again--_

_I'm **so** sorry! I've been having problems with my education, so..._

_I-I feel that I'm not worthy of all the reviews I received. --";; Thank you so very, very much! I've started on the next chapter this time, so hopefully, the next update would be faster than this. Once again, I'm truly sorry for the delay, and thank you for your support._


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